


Chromatic Perversion

by bratrights



Series: Gerry Keay; Monsterfucker Extraordinaire [1]
Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Eldritch Sex, Explicit Consent, Gerry Keay Monsterfucker Extraordinaire, He Is Fucking The Distortion What Did You Expect, Light Masochism, M/M, Michael's Hands Get Their Own Tag, Oral Sex, Other, Piercings, Porn With Plot, Rough Sex, Trans Gerard Keay, Trans Male Character, Vaginal Sex, annoyance to lovers, nonbinary michael, transmasc author, unreality
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-04
Updated: 2020-08-04
Packaged: 2021-03-05 20:54:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 21,935
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25701670
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bratrights/pseuds/bratrights
Summary: “I’m gonna have to start charging you rent if you keep showing up like this.” Gerry said in greeting, throwing himself into the chair across from Michael. Michael stretched over the back of the couch, long and bending in places normal people didn’t have joints, reaching for the book Gerry had abandoned on the table behind him. Gerry paid that little attention, though, eyes suddenly drawn towards the way Michael’s shirt rode up, the flash of faintly prismatic skin and fine blond hair.Oh god, did he find the Distortion hot?
Relationships: Gerard Keay/Michael | The Distortion
Series: Gerry Keay; Monsterfucker Extraordinaire [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1980271
Comments: 40
Kudos: 316





	Chromatic Perversion

**Author's Note:**

> So this fic was originally just the end part (I just wanted to write eldritch sex) but then got Wildly Out Of Hand. Because of that I'm putting some more nuanced tags & information here:
> 
> First and foremost I am a transmasc guy and I wrote Gerry based a lot on my experience and comfort level. The words cunt, cock, and clit are all used to describe his genitalia because those are the words I use for myself. Additionally, Gerry does not have top surgery (like myself) and experiences pleasure from having his chest touched (like myself), and his chest is referred to as tits a couple of times. He also consents to "penis" in vagina sex.
> 
> Secondly, the way I headcanon Michael is that his physical form is very inconsistent. "He" and "It" pronouns are used for Michael at various points based on Gerry's understanding of him, similar to how Jon refers to him in podcast. Additionally, because of Michael's inconsistent form, he has no consistent genetalia, having everything from a vagina to a dick and balls, to something entirely else at varying points in this fic, because I really wanted to go wild with his inhuman-ness.
> 
> Some other, less consistent tags that really only come up for a paragraph or two are: Mirror Kink, Getting Fucked So Good You Lose Your Senses, Mild Asphyxiation, Nipple Play, Nipple Piercings, Clit Piercings, and Multiple Orgasms.

It was supposed to be routine. There’d been mentions of people disappearing in the area, and Gertrude was sure it was either the Lonely or the Stranger. Gerry was just going to check a house, see if there was anything of note to help them figure out how to stop whatever was going on nearby. 

On the plus side, he was almost certain it was the Lonely causing the disappearances. The whole house basically radiated “do not enter” in a way that only something Lonely could. 

On the minus side — the door. He was no architect, but he was pretty certain there wasn’t supposed to be a bright yellow door just on the side of the house. If the hose propped against it wasn’t clue enough, the fact that the door — contrary to the rest of the house — practically screamed to be opened definitely set it as distinct from the rest of the place. 

“Can’t just have  _ one _ simple one?” Gerry muttered to himself. Of course he couldn’t. He stayed a good two metres from the door, keeping one hand on his switchblade as he inspected it. There was something about it he couldn’t articulate, but it didn’t belong there, and likely was not responsible for the disappearances in the area. But it looked like a normal door, aside from its location. If he hadn’t spent his whole life looking for the paranormal, he probably wouldn’t have thought twice about it. Hell, if he knew just a little less, he’d probably have opened it, just to see. 

He knew better than to do that. 

There was a sound like nails on a chalkboard on the other side of the door. He whipped out the knife, but it did not open. It stood there as if mocking him, daring him. Gerry scowled. 

“Who’s there,” Not that he thought yelling at it would make anything happen, but it was worth a shot. 

He certainly didn’t expect the door to just disappear. He blinked and from one moment to the next it was gone, the wall flat brick like it had never been there in the first place. He flipped the knife idly and shook his head.  _ Fuck that _ . 

As he started his car, he glanced back at where the door had been one more time. He swore he saw something glint, laying in the grass. He locked his doors and drove away. The archive would have more information about doors anyway. 

* * *

The door showed up again. He wasn’t even  _ doing  _ anything. Gerry glowered at the door on the back wall of the corner store he’d stopped in. He just wanted some fucking smokes, was that too much to ask? It was behind a display of trail mix, where once had been, presumably, a blank wall to hold the shelves. He wasn’t sure he could have opened it if he wanted to, with everything in the way, but for anyone else in the store’s sake, that was probably a good thing. The cashier didn’t acknowledge him or the door as he stood in front of it, baffled and irritated by its very existence. 

If he had to guess, glaring at the door that should not be there, Gerry would have put his money on the Spiral. Not that guessing really helped. He didn’t know how to deal with it, certainly not in the middle of a corner store. Nothing was coming out of it though, and it didn’t even seem to be openable. If he had to, he could come back when he knew more. 

An instinct honed over a lifetime of learning about this shit told him he wouldn’t need to come back to find it again, though. 

He paid for the pack of Marlboros and left. The door was on the outside wall of the store as he walked out — he flipped it off as he drove away. 

* * *

The door was not at the institute when he got there, and Gerry wasn’t sure whether that was a relief or not, given the institute’s alignment. Gertrude was out, which was probably for the best — he’d ask her about the door when they weren’t both dealing with a ton of bullshit at once. 

The library was mostly empty, as usual — a grad student or two doing some kind of research and the librarian. He claimed an empty corner for himself and got to work. 

Trying to find any information on the entities themselves in the library was like searching for a needle in a haystack, but the haystack was intentionally curated to hide needles. Not that the archives were any better, thanks to Gertrude.

After three hours of searching he had nearly a dozen books next to him, three tapes, and several blogs up on his laptop. Nothing gave more than a general idea of what he was dealing with, but that was no surprise. 

He skimmed his most recent find, written by a successor of Smirke’s, but the author seemed to try to recategorize the 14 fears, so Gerry wasn’t hopeful. Not to mention they seemed to have had a runin with some avatar, most likely the Spiral, and did not have their wits about them when they wrote. Gerry set it aside. He had, however, found a couple of first and second-hand accounts that linked Spiral-like behavior to doors, hallways, and other architectural phenomenon, which was promising. Nothing that would help him figure out what it was doing though, just confirmations of his hunch, and a definitive answer on whether he should interact with the door — absolutely fucking not. But he didn’t need a book to tell him that. 

Gerry massaged his temples, closing the last book left in front of him. It was just a compilation of missing person cases in abandoned buildings — he had even less hope for that than the others. He gathered his shit, dropped the books at the librarian’s desk, and left. He’d dig through the archives when he had free time and not when he was already fed up with sifting through lies and dramatized accounts.

The door was across the street from the institute. Because of course it was. He nearly turned around and walked back into the institute to see if Gertrude had returned, just to do something about the Spiral’s door stalking him. But Gertrude had her own shit to be working on, especially now that they knew the house was definitely the work of the Lonely. And besides, he’d dealt with far worse than a door on his own before. 

Not out in the open, though. And not with so little knowledge.

* * *

Gerry debated going back to his flat that night — he was not super keen on anything associated with the Spiral knowing where he lived, but it would be safer to sleep there than anywhere else, save the archives, probably. And he did not want to sleep in the archives unless it was absolutely necessary. If he had to, he could up the protective measures on his flat. 

He slept soundly, though with an extra cigarette before passing out and an extra knife under his pillow. He saw the door on the way to the institute again, about a block away from it. He was a little mad at how relieved he was that it wasn’t closer to his flat. Fuck, he had to deal with this before it came to that. 

The archives were not much more help than the library — Gertrude had not been fucking around when she intentionally made them as hard to sift through as possible. It took an embarrassingly long time to locate anything useful, but he did manage to hunt down a couple of clearly Spiral-related statements, including a very promising one about a guy being stalked by doors his whole life — though he only saw them once every couple of years. The statement-giver also wrote off the doors as hallucinatory, and Gerry knew better than to think that was all they were. Unfortunately, short of embracing being stalked by doors as a part of his life, the archives were no help as to what his next step should be. 

Well, there was always plan B. 

He and Gertrude kept stashes of petrol (along with other  _ equipment _ they might need) in a couple different storage units around the London area. Save for the Desolation, destruction was a really good way to deal with any manifestation-related problem as a backup, if less subtle methods proved ineffective. The storage unit closest to the institute was still a good 30 minutes away, and driving there Gerry saw the door twice — once on a gas station he stopped at a red light next to, and once on the side of an underpass. 

To his relief, the door did not show up at the storage unit. It was almost too straight-forward for him to grab the petrol and go, leaving the rest of the various explosives and such in storage. He briefly considered grabbing Gertrude’s gun, but thought better of it. Gunfire and petrol did not mix well and he did not fancy blowing himself up by mistake.

The door was across the street from the storage facility as he was leaving. 

* * *

Gerry set out just before dawn the next morning with a combat knife, a torch lighter, and two gallons of petrol in a duffel bag. He saw the door once as he drove, about 10 minutes away from his flat. He hoped it followed him as he drove to the outskirts of the city, to an abandoned warehouse in a vacant lot. Not somewhere anyone would miss if it were to get damaged in a fire. 

He didn’t immediately see the door as he got out of his car. If it didn’t work, well, all he wasted was time. But he still went inside, toting the duffel bag full of petrol with him, on the off chance the door was there. 

He wasn’t expecting to see a person standing on the far side of the warehouse. 

From a distance, it was hard to tell anything about the figure aside from its long, blond hair. Gerry approached cautiously, gripping the knife in his pocket. The figure walked towards him as he approached and, with dawning dread, the closer it got the less human he could tell it was. It was the hands that gave it away, palms and fingers much too long for anything human and bending in all the wrong ways. 

He paused, watching it approach. His first instinct was to run, but he still had the petrol, and was already here to do something stupid in the first place. When it got within 4 metres of him he drew the knife, pointing it at the figure. 

“Not a step closer.” He warned, voice gruff. The figure laughed, a sound that echoed all wrong in the empty space of the warehouse. 

“Or what, archival assistant?” It asked, baring its teeth at him. Its voice was as wrong and distorted as its laughter. “You’ll stab me?”

“Wouldn’t hurt to try.” His other hand gripped the handle of the duffel bag. If it came to it, he could probably throw it and get out the lighter before it could reach him. It laughed again

“I wouldn’t be so sure.” It said, and for as distorted as its voice was, the smug tone was blatant. 

“Not sure an avatar of the Spiral can be sure.” He watched it, and its facial features contorted. It had eyes, a nose, a mouth, but they shifted, ever so slightly, as he looked, different from moment to moment. But he didn’t miss the flicker of surprise over its face. 

“You know more than I would have guessed, archival assistant.” Its voice was low and made his head buzz. “She likes them ignorant.”

“Who, Gertrude?” Gerry frowned. He certainly hadn’t been expecting that, though he was not about to let his guard down. “What does Gertrude or the institute have to do with anything? What does the Spiral want?”

“It seems I underestimated you,” It said, ignoring his questions. 

“Sure, whatever, but why bother even estimating me in the first place?” 

“You’re the new assistant.” Its words seemed to pulse in the air. 

“I don’t even work for the archives, what are you talking about?”

“You came prepared.” It said instead of saying anything useful, glancing down at the duffel bag.

“I’m not an idiot, I know how to deal with avatars like you.” Gerry said, and yeah, maybe he was boasting, but the thing wanted to talk and that was better than killing him.

“Your plan? It wouldn’t work. But I think you will be fun.” It said and there was menace in its words. Its grin had too many teeth and curled too much at the corners. It turned away from him, walking towards the wall to his left. The door was there, though Gerry would have sworn it wasn’t there a minute ago. 

“Wait,” Gerry strode after it, against his better judgement. It ignored him, and in an impulsive fit, he threw the knife at it. The knife passed straight through it and clattered against the wall as it laughed. The door opened and it was gone, taking the door with it. 

“Fuck.” He scrubbed a hand over his face. He retrieved the knife off the floor and tucked it back into his pocket, shooting the blank wall where the door was an irritated look. He almost wished he’d brought the gun. Not that he thought it would have helped, but he’d probably feel less like he’d been toyed with. Probably.

* * *

He kept the petrol in his flat, just in case. Neither the figure nor the door showed up the next day or the day after, which was both a surprise and a relief. But better to be prepared than caught off-guard. He wasn’t sure what to make of it saying his plan wouldn't work — it was the entity of lies, after all. But he’d also like to avoid an arson case if he could. 

The thought of involving Gertrude crossed his mind again, but he dismissed it. It hadn’t even attacked him yet, just been a nuisance, really. Gertrude had enough to deal with without worrying about him getting negged by an avatar of the Spiral. He’d involve her when it became a real problem, or when they’d dealt with the Lonely. Whichever came first. 

He took advantage of the two days free of the Spiral’s irritation doing whatever research he could on the figure he’d met. Sure, the doors had shown up in statements, but not the figure with fucked up hands. But his first searches hadn’t turned up anything, and neither did this one. He wondered if he could get the door in a woodchipper. That’d be more productive than this. 

At least he’d been able to talk to Gertrude about the Lonely house. That was one thing off his list of millions. 

* * *

The next morning the door was near the institute again. Gerry swore under his breath when he saw it, around the corner from the institute, near the car park. The figure wasn’t there, though, and he was not about to go looking for it when he didn’t have to. He was still trying to piece together a plan for what to do about it, though being something whose very nature was confusing, that was not going especially fast. 

It was gone when he stepped outside for a smoke break. 

He was not so lucky as he was leaving that night. The figure was perched  _ on top of _ his car, unfolding itself from the hood as he approached. He gripped his keys in one hand and his pocket knife in the other. It looked more human than it had two days before, but even if he hadn’t met it already, he’d have known it wasn’t right.

“Go away.” He said bluntly. It laughed and its echo was as wrong out in the open as it had been in the warehouse. 

“Not even going to ask me what I want?” Its features were human, but its grin was twisted. 

“Would you tell me if I did?” 

“No.” It laughed again. He had to resist the urge to roll his eyes. 

“Ok, different question then — who are you?” 

“That’s a more complicated question than your first one.” It sounded delighted and this time he did roll his eyes. 

“Right, sure, ok,  _ what _ are you? Is that better?”

“More accurate, I suppose.” It cocked its head and the way its hair moved was definitely not normal, like gravity didn’t affect it like it should. “I am the throat of delusion, the mouth of the liar, but you know that already, assistant.” 

“You’re an avatar of the Spiral, yeah.” 

“Avatar is not the right word for what I am.” Its eyes glowed in a way that should have had Gerry running. But he was nothing if not stubborn.

“And neither is assistant.” He bit back. It laughed and laughed and laughed until his head throbbed. 

“Then you may call me Michael.” It said like it was part of a joke. 

“Michael?” Gerry blinked, caught off-guard by the normalcy of it. 

“It's a human name, yes?” It — Michael — looked at him expectantly. He should have guessed that interacting with anything related to the Spiral would be infinitely frustrating.

“Yeah, sure is. You can call me Gerard, then, I guess.” Was it smart of him to give it his name? Probably not. But he wasn’t sure it really mattered, if it could follow him around seemingly effortlessly. 

“Gerard,” The way Michael said his name made his hackles rise. “You’re bold. I think I like you.”

“What the hell does that mean?” He drew the knife, mostly just to give himself any sort of comfort. It grinned at him, like it found the knife funny.

“Whatever you think it means.” It said, frustratingly smug. The door appeared behind it, supported by nothing, standing on its own. Gerry barely had a second to be surprised before it had opened the door and stepped across the threshold. “We’ll be seeing each other again.” It waved a hand that looked stretched like dough and disappeared. 

The door stayed, hanging open between Gerry and his car. 

“Absolutely not.” He said to the empty doorframe. Michael did not reappear, nor did the door move. He skirted around it carefully anyway, only turning his back to the door to get into his car. He glanced back at it once he had his car locked and it was gone, the section of floor it had stood on featureless as it ever was. 

* * *

Gerry had only seen the door once in the three days since he’d spoken with Michael. Not that he thought it was gone, but he had a job to do, and the possibility of an appearing door and frustratingly vague Spiral-aligned  _ thing _ wasn’t going to stop him.

There’d been rumors of a strange figure around the old coffee shop. Someone who looked like someone you swore you recognized, that sort of thing. And disappearances, of course. Always disappearances. 

Gerry went with Gertrude to investigate, more for the promise of coffee than that she needed help. One Stranger-related avatar either of them could have handled on their own, after all. 

He’d really hoped he could have just gone in, maybe sit around and watch for any suspicious activity, discuss theories, the like. Instead, Gerry found himself skulking around the alley behind the coffeeshop with Gertrude. Go figure. 

“What are we looking for back here? Dropped cigarettes?”

“Anything useful, Gerard. This one didn’t sound like something that was being careful.” 

“I think you just don’t want to buy coffee.” Gerry snorted as Gertrude looked disdainfully at the trash bins around the alley. 

“You —” She started, then cut herself off. “Gerard,” Her tone changed, sharp and cold. Gerry glanced over his shoulder instinctively, reaching for his knife. “Watch out.” There, on the far wall, was Michael’s door. 

“Not this again.” He said before he could think better of it. Of course it would turn up as soon as he tried actually doing something. He didn’t let go of his knife, but he let some of the tension bleed from him. Gertrude looked at him like he’d grown a second head.

“Have you encountered it before?” She asked carefully. 

“It’s turned up a couple times in the past week.” Gerry scowled at the yellow door. At least Michael wasn’t showing up, it would cause all sorts of problems. 

“You didn’t enter it, did you?”

“I’m not an idiot, of course not.” Gerry rolled his eyes. “It’s some extension of the Spiral, yeah?”

“Yes, it’s called the Distortion.” Gertrude looked between him and the door, and he wasn’t sure he wanted to know what kind of connections she was making. “You’ve met it.” It wasn’t a question.

“Yeah.” No point in denying it, she’d know if he was lying anyway. “I tried to burn the door. It called itself Michael.” 

“The Distortion is a dangerous adversary,” Gerry snorted. 

“Here I thought it just wanted coffee.”

“Gerard, this is serious.”

“I know, I know. It’s just been more of a nuisance than anything, so far.” He shot another glare at the door. “I’ve got it under control, don't worry.”

“Just don’t let your guard down.” Gertrude warned.

“Yes Ma’am.” Gerry grinned. Gertrude looked like she was debating between shooting him or shooting the door. The door winked out of existence and she sighed, finally relaxing a bit.

“Just go get yourself some shit coffee.”

* * *

Gerry was exhausted. Gertrude had him running all over London it felt like, trying to hunt down a butcher shop with alleged Flesh influence based only on the other buildings nearby. He’d only covered about half of the ones he needed to check too. He was glad, at least, that he didn’t see Michael or its door while he was running around like an idiot. He wasn’t sure he had the patience. 

He trudged up the stairs to his flat — just about ready to grab a drink and pass out; tired and on-edge to the point that his neighbor’s door startled him. He could have sworn, for a second, it looked like Michael’s — the Distortion’s. He shook his head. Shit, he was tired. 

Gerry unlocked his door and locked all three locks behind him before kicking off his boots. Normally, locking his door gave him at least a little sense of security, even if he knew it was hollow. But for some reason, his instincts told him something was off. He shrugged his bag off carefully, leaving it by his front door as he crept cautiously into his flat, reaching for the switchblade in his pocket. 

Gerry wasn’t sure what he was expecting. Michael standing in his living room was not it, certainly.

“Oh, fuck off.” Gerry said before he could think better of it. Michael laughed, the sound echoing around the room as if it were an auditorium.

“Not investigating, assistant?” Its words were mocking.

“Get out of my flat.” It stood between him and the petrol, damn it. 

“Why?” It asked, some approximation of glee on its face.

“There’s nothing here.” Gerry couldn’t imagine there was anything in his flat that it could possibly be interested in. His flat was spare, more utility than anything. He kept no valuables, certainly no Leitners or anything supernatural, not where he slept. 

“You are.” It bared its teeth at him.  _ Fuck _ . 

“If you want to kill me now’s your chance then.” He growled, clutching the knife in his pocket. He wasn’t going down without a fight, but he wasn’t about to play cat and mouse either. He figured he could catch it by surprise, maybe distract it long enough to get to the petrol. 

“No.” Michael giggled and the sound made his head pound. 

“No, you’re not going to kill me or no, now’s not your chance?” Gerry’s head hurt. He tightened his grip on his knife. 

“So many questions.” It hummed, and for some reason Gerry felt mocked, though the words themselves were not mocking. “You are more reckless than the One Who Watches usually attracts.”

“And you’re less scary than I thought the Spiral would be.” Gerry bit back. It laughed, a sound like the screech of an instrument played wrong. 

“I am made of lies.”

“So you’ve said.”

“And lies are so transparent on you.” It stepped towards him. He tensed, ready to dodge or stab if he had to. 

“Yeah, unlike on you.” It was only his stubbornness that kept him from taking a step back as Michael looked at him, its eyes a nauseating swirl of color. 

“Is that not the nature of madness?”

“Seems like you’re more frustrating than maddening.” It laughed again, its whole form shaking and distorting like it was being viewed through water. Its hair curled around its form as if blown by a breeze he couldn’t feel.

“And you do not attack.” It spread its hands and its fingers were  _ sharp _ , Gerry could tell, even from half way across his living room. He fought to keep his expression neutral. 

“If I did, would you leave?” He said dryly, more as a joke than anything else, to cover the way it caught him off guard.

“Is that all?” Its whole face curled into a grin. Its door appeared next to it and swung open. It looked at him for a long moment as he floundered. He should attack it, he knew he should, before it could get away. And yet. 

And yet.

It hadn’t even touched him. Not that the Spiral needed physical contact to feed on a victim’s fear, but it felt different. It was disconcerting, to feel distinctly that this was not really about fear in the presence of something built to feed on fear, and he wondered if that was the point — that difference. He stared back at it as it looked at him from its threshold. It was only human shaped, its whole form hazy like it was blurring at the edges. 

And then it was gone. 

Gerry stood alone in his living room for a long while. Michael was confusing. He knew that it was quite literally supposed to be, but it wasn’t the kind of confusion he’d expected. He wasn’t sure what he’d expected, honestly, but it wasn’t this. If he were sane, he’d go sleep in the archives where it was safer.

He moved one of the gallons of petrol next to the door, and the other to his bedroom. He tucked a knife under each pillow on his bed. Just in case. It took three glasses of whiskey before he felt calm enough to attempt sleep. 

* * *

It happened again. 

After that night, Michael let itself into his flat whenever it pleased. The first couple of times Gerry got back to find it on his couch, or perched on his dining table, he shooed it away. It seemed to enjoy showing up just to annoy him, but it left after a few minutes each time. 

“Do you keep showing up just to startle me?” Gerry asked after the fourth time Michael had shown up in his flat. It kept opening its door behind him, seemingly just to watch him jump as his hackles raised, scrambling away when it loomed behind him. 

“No.” It said, giggling. 

“Just like the decor then?” He snipped. It waved a sharp hand, a deliberately careless gesture. Gerry watched the movement like a hawk.

“Does the Ceaseless Watcher not Tell you things?” 

“I told you, I don’t serve the Eye.” 

“Unclaimed,” It turned its full, spiraling gaze on him. He did not wilt under its attention — it had nothing on Gertrude’s glares. 

“That’s not an invitation.” He said flatly. 

“Madness is much easier than knowledge.” It said, more like a thought spoken aloud than a statement addressed to him, but regardless, he did not like the implications of it.

“What is this, a recruitment seminar?”

“No.” It giggled again. He rubbed his temples.

So it went.

But days turned into weeks. Gerry stopped jumping every time Michael greeted him, though it seemed to get a kick out of appearing behind him. It didn’t show up every day and it still didn’t stay for long, but it was less, well, confrontational wasn’t the right word. And it was still just as confusing. But it seemed to prefer his flat over following him around with its door, which Gerry wasn’t sure whether he should count that as a good thing or a bad thing, but it was definitely something. 

One day, Gerry came home to find the leftover takeout gone from his fridge. 

“Did you eat my leftovers?” He asked when it showed up. Michael laughed, a sound no less headache-inducing than the first time he’d heard it. 

“I don’t need to eat.” Michael said, folding itself into his chair. 

“That doesn’t mean you didn’t take them.” 

“I suppose.” It grinned at him, and its grin had too many teeth, long and fang-like.

“You ate my fucking leftovers, didn’t you.”

“Perhaps.” 

“Why? Because you wanted to drive me crazy for an hour looking for where I left my fucking food?”

“Yes, precisely.” 

“You're like the world's worst roommate.” He said, then paused. Was he really talking to the hand of the Spiral like it lived with him? God, he really was going fucking insane. Michael grinned at him, like it knew what he was thinking. He flipped it off and it laughed like a migraine. 

So it continued. 

Gerry was glad, at least, that Michael didn’t bother him at the institute. That would be pretty hard to explain to anyone who saw (and he knew some people would See). And it let him do his work in peace. 

Though that didn’t stop Michael from showing up while he was working in his flat. 

“Reading about me?” Michael asked as it stepped into his living room. Gerry glanced up from the quite literal tome he was flipping through as Michael perched on the arm of his couch, folding its body in a way that should not have been possible — twisted and wrong and hard on the eyes.

“About the Spiral, yeah.” 

“Trying to find a better defense than knives?” Gerry could have sworn Michael was  _ teasing  _ him. 

“Hey the knives seem to be a pretty good defense thus far.” He was only sort of looking for information on the Distortion, mostly he was doing follow up on a statement for Gertrude. Michael didn’t need to know that, though. 

“Such a bold assistant you are.”

“I tell you this every time, I’m not an archival assistant.”

“You’d have me call you Gerard instead, then?” As far as he could tell, Michael sounded genuinely curious, more genuine than Gerry had ever heard in his voice before.

“Gerry.” He said before he could think better of it. “Call me Gerry.” 

“Gerry,” Michael echoed. Gerry met his gaze, watching his face shift like smoke.

“Sure. Why the hell not.” 

* * *

Gerry woke up to his whole bed shaking. Instinct had him bolt upright and moving forward, heart racing, knife in hand before he’d even processed being awake. His room was dim, like the sun hadn’t quite finished rising yet, but it was plenty of light to reveal Michael, on the edge of his bed like he’d just thrown himself there, legs tucked up under himself awkwardly, utterly indifferent to the knife Gerry had leveled at him, dangerously close to Michael’s approximation of a face.

“What the fuck, Michael?” Gerry grumbled, voice rough with sleep.

“You were asleep.” 

“Yeah, no shit.” He fought to get his heart rate under control. “Don’t you know what time it is?”

“Time isn’t real.” Michael laughed and it made his teeth ache. Gerry sighed, leaning back to give him room to move. 

“So, what, you just decided to wake me up?”

“Yes.” Michael rolled over to look at him upside-down, looking very much like a large, gangly cat. His mane of blond hair tangled around him, curling impossibly. 

Gerry stared at him as the Distortion twisted and sat up to perch on his bed. Michael had shown up while he was asleep. Gerry hadn’t heard his door open, despite being a light sleeper — Michael had him at his mercy. And did nothing.  _ No, not nothing; he woke him up _ . He didn’t know what to do with that, with being woken up to something that didn’t want him dead. Because if Michael wanted him dead, he’d be dead. 

Michael could have killed him, but didn’t.

“Why?” He asked, still too dazed from sleep to filter himself.

“Why not?” Michael grinned at him, expression human enough to see the glint of mischief in his eyes. 

“Usually people wake people up when they want something.” Gerry didn’t want to ask why Michael didn’t kill him, that was way too on the nose, and it wasn’t like Michael would answer him anyway.

“I am not people.” Michael said, an echoing giggle laced through his words. 

“Guess so.” Gerry let the tension bleed out of him. He did not set the knife back under his pillow, but he thought he could have, if he wanted to. Michael wasn’t going to hurt him. He wondered if this was Michael’s way of telling him that without having to say it. “Still could want something, though.”

“Want is such a fascinating concept.” Michael said, like that meant something. 

“Sure, yeah, whatever.” Gerry scrubbed his free hand over his face. “Is my confusion a fun meal for you, then?”

“It is enough.” Michael’s smile curled across too much of his face as he waved a long, sharp, bony hand. 

After a moment, he thought he understood. Michael drew attention to himself, those too sharp fingers, but did nothing, only reminding Gerry about theoretical danger. Gerry glanced down at the knife in his hand. Did that make him a bigger threat to Michael than Michael was to him? He’d been dealing with avatars and entities his whole life, was he more prepared to hurt Michael than Michael was to hurt him? 

It made him almost dizzy to think about, having that level of security. It could have just been that Michael  _ wanted  _ his confusion about his intentions, but he wasn’t so sure anymore. Surely if Michael wanted him confused, driven out of his mind, he would be. They certainly wouldn’t be sitting on his bed at some early hour of the morning, if that were the case. Gerry wasn’t sure he knew what safety felt like and he doubted this was it, but somehow he’d stumbled closer to feeling safe with the fucking Distortion than he maybe ever had before. 

Gerry slid out of bed. Michael followed him out of his room. He tucked the knife into his waistband, and didn’t have to draw it again. 

* * *

It had stopped surprising him all together to see Michael draped over his couch when Gerry got back to his flat. He didn’t even bat an eye, kicking off his boots and dropping his shit on his kitchen table.

“I’m gonna have to start charging you rent if you keep showing up like this.” Gerry said in greeting. Michael giggled. 

“Money isn’t real.” 

“Yeah tell that to everyone else.” He chuckled, throwing himself into the chair across from Michael. Michael stretched over the back of the couch, long and bending in places normal people didn’t have joints, reaching for the book Gerry had abandoned on the table behind him. Gerry paid that little attention, though, eyes suddenly drawn towards the way Michael’s shirt rode up, the flash of faintly prismatic skin and fine blond hair. 

Oh god, did he find the Distortion hot?

He shook his head, tearing his gaze away from Michael before he folded himself back into a more normal sitting position. Michael was looking at him expectantly. 

“What?” 

“Distracted, beholder?” Michael said, voice echoing like he was teasing him. 

“It was a long day.” He lied. Michael’s face split into a grin, too wide, too  _ knowing _ for Gerry’s taste, but he said nothing on it. 

To Gerry’s utter mortification, it happened again a few days later. Gerry was sitting at his desk, trying to get some work done when Michael showed up, heralded by the creak of his door. 

‘I’m not doing anything interesting.” He said as Michael threw himself down on his bed. He wondered at that for a moment — was he really getting to a point of comfort with the Distortion that  _ that _ was how he was greeting him? 

“You are seeking knowledge.” 

“Are you trying to distort it?” Gerry fought to keep the smirk off his face as Michael laughed. 

“Each of us has our jobs, assistant.” 

_ Is yours to lay on my bed and be annoying? _ Gerry caught himself before he said that aloud. The picture Michael made, sprawled across his pillows was distracting enough. “It’s hardly seeking knowledge if it’s mostly just confirming what I already know.” He said instead. 

Michael hummed, and Gerry swore he could feel the sound shake his bones. With more emphasis than necessary he returned his attention to the book on his desk. Though he could hardly call that less distracting, willingly turning his back to Michael. Such a sense of security was almost as foreign to him as Michael himself was. 

His heart missed several beats as a large, sharp hand came to rest on his shoulder. That did startle him, though he wasn’t sure it was  _ fear _ that had his breath quickening. Michael stood over him, expression a confusing swirl of smug mischief and curiosity. Gerry stared up at him, feeling something that was distinctly not afraid.

He knew he was staring at Michael for too long again. His features were inhuman, but not frightening in any way. His eyes swirled with every color Gerry could name and then some, bright and sharp, even when they seemed to blur, to start to change with the rest of his face. Gerry wondered what it would be like to reach out and tangle a hand in Michael’s hair. 

He was still staring. 

Michael broke their odd locked eye contact first, expression fracturing into a wide smirk. Gerry snorted, trying to remember to breathe. 

“You enjoy startling me too much.” 

He wished he could get the thought of Michael out of his head, but he couldn’t. The next few times he showed up, it was  _ something.  _ The crooked echo of his giggle -— Gerry wondered what it would be like to shut him up with a kiss. His long, dangerous hands, his mind drifted to the thought of them against bare skin. 

Sure, it wouldn’t be the first time he’d thought about fucking an avatar — hell, it wouldn’t be the first time he’d actually fucked an avatar, not by a long shot. But Michael wasn’t just an avatar. It was stupid and reckless, but knowing that didn’t stop Gerry from thinking, from wanting. 

* * *

Gerry honestly didn’t expect Michael to show up so late. Michael had no sense of time — and was very keen on telling Gerry that time wasn’t real any time it came up — but he  _ tended  _ to show up sometime before 10 pm. And as far as he knew, Michael hadn’t shown up in the morning again after the incident almost two weeks ago. If Gerry had to guess, it was probably just because he wasn’t interesting while he was asleep.

So, when he stepped out of the shower at midnight, wearing nothing but the towel around his shoulders, it caught him off-guard to see Michael standing in the middle of his room. 

It seemed to catch Michael equally by surprise. 

He reigned in his shock as quickly as he could. If Michael was going to show up any time he wanted, Gerry was not opposed to taking advantage of the situation at the best of times. Might as well.

“Hey,” He said, voice steady. Michael stared at him, his eyes a confusing swirl on his face but with no doubt of where his gaze fell. 

“You’re… vulnerable.” Michael said, laughter in his words after too long a pause. His voice sounded stranger than usual, like it was spoken through cotton. 

“I just got out of the shower. Need something?” He popped his hip — sure, he was putting himself on display, but this certainly wasn’t the first time he’d used his own body in the pursuit of dangerous pleasure. Michael’s gaze curled over him, darting over every inch of exposed skin like lightning. Gerry raised an eyebrow at him. 

“Need something?” He echoed, then stopped. Gerry rolled his eyes. He couldn’t tell if Michael was being intentionally obtuse or genuinely didn’t get it. 

“Do you want something, Michael?” Gerry said, spreading his hands, and it was a challenge, unmistakably. Michael’s whole form flickered, looking distinctly less human for a moment. 

“No,” Michael said after a long pause, and his gaze finally darted away. His door was on the far wall. 

“Oh no you don’t,” Gerry crossed the room in three quick steps, letting the towel fall from his shoulders and baring himself to Michael. He grabbed him by the collar and held him still, pressing himself against Michael’s body. It was distracting, trying to process the feeling of Michael’s form against him — his body felt less human shaped than it looked, like he was reaching past an illusion. But he didn’t let himself get lost to it. Gerry stood on his toes to be eye-level with Michael and pressed their chests together. He  _ wanted _ ; the way Michael felt against him, against bare skin was intoxicating and even with something like clothing between them, the press against his tits was nearly too much. He was proud at how even he kept his voice. “You keep showing up. You don’t kill me. If you’re going to be here, make yourself useful.” 

Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Michael’s hands flounder, as if he didn’t know what to do with them. It was almost endearing, and surprisingly  _ human _ of him. He met Michaels eyes, entranced by the swirl of color and shape in them, never quite the same hue but Gerry could see the want in them, knew that they mirrored the same want that pulsed through his veins. 

Tentatively, with more caution than Gerry would have ever expected, Michael brough a hand up to curl in Gerry’s still-damp hair, cradling the back of his skull. Gerry hummed in approval, pulling Michael close, like he could press into him. As though seeing everything in slow motion, Gerry watched as Michael leaned into him and sealed his lips over Gerry’s. 

The sensation of kissing Michael was indescribable. Gerry’s lips buzzed and his head spun as his eyes fluttered shut. He leaned into the contact, colors he had no words for flashing behind his eyes. He made a soft sound against Michael’s lips and Michael echoed it, the noise reverberating through his lungs. 

Gerry lost any sense of time, but when they parted, his face felt flushed and his heart was racing. Color bloomed in shapes that fractaled outwards, in color that was not one but all colors across Michael’s cheeks like blush and his eyes were huge and bright. There was a moment of stillness between them, filled just with Gerry’s quick breaths and a locked gaze, between them passing  _ something _ . 

And then Michael was gone. 

He had no memory of letting go of the collar of Michael’s shirt but in the blink of an eye he’d vanished back through his door, and had taken the door with him. Gerry stood naked in the center of his room, lips still tingling. He sighed and retrieved the towel from the floor.  _ Well, it was worth a shot _ . At least he had the rest of the night to himself.

* * *

Michael didn’t show up for four days, which gave Gerry ample time to plan. Was it stupid, trying to catch the Distortion in a trap? Yes. Was it even more stupid to use his own body as the trap? Yes, absolutely. But if Michael wanted him dead he’d be dead, he’d had plenty of opportunities, and Gerry knew he wouldn’t, as much as he could know with something like Michael. All Gerry was doing was evening the playing field a little bit. 

And, well, if Michael didn’t show up, he could at least blow off some steam. 

It was evening of the fifth day Michael hadn’t pestered him that Gerry decided to try it. He wasn’t needed at the institute, though he wasn’t sure  _ this _ counted as working from home. 

He sprawled on his bed, having long since discarded his jeans. Upon first glance, it would just look like he was relaxing in his flat. But his v-neck was cut too deep and slipped from his shoulder as he lounged against the pillows — he knew how to dress when he was looking to get fucked.

It was about appearance; it was always about appearances with Michael. The appearance of danger, of malice, with nothing behind it — illusions. Two could play at that game. His phone was in one hand, though he paid it no mind as the other trailed lazily over his chest and stomach. He toyed idly with the hem of his pants as he scrolled through his phone — doing his damn best to keep up his unaffected appearance. He had no idea if Michael was watching him, or if he even could, but the thought made his breath stutter. He slipped his hand under the waistband, following the trail of dark hair downwards, pressing against his cock. He teased his clit piercing with his thumb and moaned softly into the empty room. He didn’t bother trying to stifle the soft gasps that fell from his mouth as he touched himself — hell, he briefly considered pulling up some porn just to really sell it. 

But the hair on the back of his neck stood up all at once and he knew he wouldn’t need to. 

The sound of Michael’s door creaking open was loud in his quiet room, as was his soft but sharp intake of breath as his eyes fixed on Gerry. Even if he couldn’t see him, Gerry would have known—Michael’s gaze was a tangible weight on his skin. He raised an eyebrow at him, daring, challenging. Color like a kaleidoscope swirled in his eyes and across his cheeks. Gerry wondered if Michael would run again.

“Hello Michael. Long time no see.” His voice was only a little breathy but he was sure Michael caught it. He pressed against his clit one more time before dragging his hand back up his stomach, just to watch Michael’s gaze follow the aborted movement of his hips with hunger in his eyes. 

“Time is not real.” Michael replied, almost reflexively, his words bouncing around the room yet soft. His hair swirled around him, coiling impossibly and almost hypnotic to try and follow.

“And yet, here you are.” Gerry propped himself up on his elbow, discarding his phone. It was hard to tell, with the way Michael’s features shifted like sand, where he was looking but Gerry swore his eyes jumped to the way his shirt hung off his shoulder. 

“I should not be,” He glanced at the door for only a split second before the full weight of his gaze fell on Gerry again. 

“Shouldn’t you be?” He rose from his bed and strode up to Michael. Michael didn’t move, even as Gerry stepped up to him. This close, Gerry could almost track the way his pupils swirled, the colors as they moved from one impossible shade to another, the curve of what should have been his cheekbone. He leaned up, voice low. “Do you not have wants?” 

“I am not a creature of wants.” Michael’s nervous laughter echoed through his ribcage like it was chasing his heartbeat. 

“So you say. What will you do then, Michael?” Gerry challenged, moving into Michael’s space until he had him crowded up against his own door. Michael moved like a coiled spring, waiting for the right moment — Gerry hoped the moment came soon. 

“And if I did nothing at all?” Michael asked, his approximation of a face so close to Gerry’s that he could almost feel the movement of his lips. Gerry placed his hands on Michael’s hips, intention unmistakable. Michael didn’t shudder, but there was no other way to describe the way his whole being shifted almost imperceptibly. 

“Do nothing, if you want.” He replied, this time intentionally brushing Michael’s lips with his own. Michael’s hand came up to curl around the back of his neck and he hummed at the feeling, the weight of it. He should have been afraid, those sharp fingers so close to his jugular, but the rush that went through him was not fear. 

“Do nothing,” Gerry repeated, leaning back minutely, “but tell me that I’m right.” And slowly, he sunk to his knees. 

Michael’s gaze followed him downward, hot and hungry and curling around him like the hand on his neck. He kept his hands on Michael’s hips, hooking through the belt loops of his trousers. The blush-like colors that danced over Michael’s skin brightened as Gerry looked up at him, mouth dangerously close to where he wanted to be. Michael’s laughter filled the room, sounding equal parts anticipatory and mocking. 

“I am a liar.” He said. Gerry looked up at him through his lashes, reveling in the way a flash of dark, blatant  _ want _ passed over Michael’s face. 

“I know.” He did, he understood, and it should have scared him but it didn’t. He had nothing to gain but pleasure, and nothing to lose but his life. “Say it anyway.”

“You ask a lot, beholder.” Gerry swore he could feel Michael’s words buzz through him like static. 

“Not beholding, just me — and I’m offering more.” He countered. And why not offer it? Michael hadn’t done anything to him yet and showed no sign of even considering it. And if he did, Gerry wasn’t sure he would have cared, anyway. 

“Yes, you’re right.” Michael said like the words were an effort to get out, and Gerry wasn’t sure if he heard the words aloud or if Michael’s voice echoed in his head but it didn’t matter. He undid Michael’s fly slowly, dragging out each second of teasing contact. Gerry pulled his trousers down to Michael’s knees, dragging his hands up his inner thighs as he moved back upwards. Michael let out a noise like a shudder and Gerry smirked up at him. 

“Eager?” He teased. Michael’s hand tightened around Gerry’s neck. 

“You want to See me beg.” Michael hummed and it sounded like his voice was echoing through Gerry’s bones. 

“I want to see  _ you _ ,” Gerry replied, trailing a finger along the waistband of Michael’s pants. Whatever retort Michael had was lost in the distorted sound that fell from him as Gerry mouthed at him through his pants. Michael made a noise like a growl and pushed him closer. Gerry chuckled against him, laving over him with his tongue, making sure to press his tongue piercing against him  _ hard _ , just to feel Michael’s whole being shudder. 

Gerry pulled away and Michael’s hips shifted to follow him as though without his permission. Gerry smirked as he hooked his thumbs in the waistband of his pants and tugged them down. Michael kicked off his pants and trousers in a movement that no human body should have been able to make but watching him move with an odd sort of twisting grace had Gerry’s thoughts running wild, wondering how it would feel to have him grind against him like that.  _ Fuck _ . 

And then he held Michael by the hips, holding him against the door, and returned to the task at hand. He was under no pretenses that Michael would be understandable, but the incomprehensibility of the form in front of him made him  _ want _ . Michael was not a being of consistency, and this was no different, his body changing and shifting from one moment to the next like the technicolor blush that crept over his skin. Gerry’s tongue darted out to lick his lips, watching Michael squirm and change for just a moment before the shapes and body he had no words for made his head throb and his mouth water. 

He leaned into Michael, dragging his tongue up his inner thigh to tease him. This close he could see the short, light blond hair that swirled down Michael’s stomach and around his cock and he followed it downwards with his mouth. The hand on his neck tightened, pushing him closer and Gerry chuckled against him, but he did not keep him waiting. He swiped his tongue over the head of his dick, catching it with his piercing and Michael moaned, the sound high and needy and rattling around in his skull. He did it again and he couldn’t see Michael’s expression but he could feel his whole form shift, like he was blurring at the edges. 

The soft sounds that fell from Michael were inhuman — distorted as if heard through glass as Gerry sealed his lips over his cock, sucking lightly at the head of it as he swirled his tongue. Michael’s form shifted and changed on his lips and he moaned into him, his whole being throbbing in time with the color that twisted across what passed as Michael’s body. He laved over him, teasing the hood with the tip of his tongue before licking a soft, broad swipe over him. His piercing pressed the underside of Michael’s cock and Michael’s hips rolled against him as noises like waves of static slipped from him. He pulled Gerry’s hair and Gerry groaned, lost in the way it felt to taste Michael falling apart. Gerry sucked his clit hard, letting his teeth scrape lightly over the crown, and Michael made a sound like the sharp edge of a knife, body bent impossibly toward Gerry, like all of him was trying to chase his mouth. 

Gerry held Michael’s thighs, keeping him still. Michael shivered against him, body moving like he was uncoiling as Gerry dipped lower, swiping his tongue over Michael’s cunt. The noise Michael made was impossible, more like the sound of shattering glass than any sound that a person could make. He dipped his tongue into him and he tasted like color, like the idea of something with no beginning or end. The feeling of Michael’s body shifting and changing shape around his tongue sent heat curling through him — he dropped a hand to his lap, pressing hard against his cock through his pants, rutting against his palm just to alleviate some of the burning  _ need _ that pulsed through Michael into him like they were one and the same. He licked Michael open with every trick he knew, nose buried in his blond curls. 

Michael changed around him, faster, a kaleidoscope of shapes more like fractaling geometry than body and Gerry shifted, sucking hard on his cock. He licked around the head before travelling down, taking more into his mouth, flattening his tongue around it. Michael gripped his hair hard enough to sting, little shocks of pain distorted to pleasure lighting up his body. Gerry moaned, trying to cover as much of Michael as he could with his mouth, desperate to hear and feel and taste the way Michael fell apart. 

Gerry scraped his teeth over Michael’s cock again and Michael collapsed. He did not fall, supported by the door, but from where Gerry was kneeling, mouthing at him and drinking him in like he was salvation, it seemed to every sense like Michael was collapsing in on himself, the small death of a star. He shook apart around him, the taste of him on Gerry’s tongue like a revelation. Michael ground against his face through his orgasm and Gerry moaned into him, a mess of color and desire and lost to the sounds that made his thighs shake. 

He didn’t pull away until Michael had stopped moving, his moans devolving into whimpers like wind chimes. He could feel Michael’s cum dripping down the corners of his mouth, down his chin, and he didn’t care, not when he leaned back and Michael was looking at him with a hunger that made his blood sing with lust. 

For one infinite moment, Gerry stared up at Michael, frozen on his knees in an aborted attempt to grind against his own hand, held captive by his gaze as Michael’s eyes almost tangibly watched cum drip down his chest. 

Between one blink and the next Michael was on him, hitting him like the collision of galaxies, but there was no movement, just the sudden press of body as Michael pinned him to the floor. Michael’s mouth wasn’t human shaped anymore but that didn’t stop him from kissing Gerry like he meant to devour him, and it didn’t stop Gerry from kissing him back like he aimed to be devoured. Gerry moaned around Michael’s tongue — he didn’t remember parting his mouth for him, but Michael’s tongue curled around his own, long and inhuman and moving in a way that made color and geometry flash behind his eyes as it licked the back of his teeth, like Michael was trying to chase the taste of himself down Gerry’s throat. 

When Michael pulled back and Gerry’s senses returned to himself, minutes or hours later, he opened his eyes to Michael, features hypnotic but recognizable in the desire that swirled across him like lightning. Gerry tangled his hands in Michael’s hair, pulling him back down for another kiss that tasted like light and blinded every sense but touch. Michael shifted against him, slipping a leg between Gerry’s and he arched into the contact, breaking the kiss with a shaky moan as he threw his head back. 

“F-fuck,  _ Michael _ ,” Gerry panted, hips rising to meet Michael’s. Michael wasted no time twisting around him, pressing kisses that were more teeth than tongue down the column of his neck. Gerry pulled his hair again and Michael bit  _ hard  _ over his pulsepoint — Gerry cried out from the feeling of it, pleasure and pain twisted together in one sharp spike of excruciating pleasure. 

“Now who’s eager?” Michael laughed into the hollow of his throat, teasing him with his tongue before sucking another dark bruise into his skin. The sound of his laughter travelled through the blood he brought to the surface and through all of Gerry’s being. 

“You already —  _ hah _ — got off once. Can’t help but feel a little  _ unappreciated _ .” Gerry panted, struggling to keep his moans under control, but his words pitched up, breathy and desperate. Each press of Michael’s too many, too sharp teeth had him pressing into the contact, lost to the mouth at his neck and the pleasure between his thighs.

“Would you go mad from it?” Michael’s voice shuddered through him like the repetition of fractals, detailed and sharp. “If I kept you here? Would  _ you _ beg?” He pulled away from the litany of bruises he’d left across Gerry’s collarbone to grin down at him, the curl of his lips too far, equal parts mocking and daring. 

Gerry moved, kicking his hips up as he planted his feet on the ground, unbalancing Michael and rolling, throwing a thigh over Michael’s hips and rutting down against him. He pinned Michael’s wrists to the floor and he knew it would be no task at all for Michael to free himself as Gerry leaned over him, but he let him do it, the grin on his face distorted into something hungrier. 

“If you want me to beg, all you have to do is ask.” He dipped down to bite at Michael’s neck. His form was not wholly human in shape or solidity, but Gerry wanted to see, wanted to  _ know _ whether he could mark Michael the way Michael marked him. He bit hard, rolling his hips against Michael’s cock in time to the rumbling moans that fell from Michael’s lips, more shape than sound. 

He released Michael’s wrists as he pulled back, grinding down  _ hard _ against Michael, gasping at the technicolor starbursts that flashed behind his eyes. Michael’s hands came up to grip his hips, tearing his pants off him. Gerry would complain as Michael discarded the ruined briefs, but the thrill that went through him — both at knowing that the inhuman being that was Michael wanted him badly enough to  _ tear his clothes _ , and knowing that Michael was sharp and dangerous, deadly, even, but he all but had it at his mercy, dragging his cunt along his cock — it was an adrenaline rush like no other, exhilarating and terrifying spun together in a way that made his dick throb and his head pound. 

Sharp fingers dug into the tender skin of his hips as Michael gripped him nearly hard enough to bruise. Gerry pulled his shirt off, never once stilling, but slowing the grind of his hips, lost in the way it felt to feel Michael’s cock change against him, wanting to draw it out. He shoved his hands under Michael’s approximation of a shirt and between him and a quick, unfathomable movement of the form that was Michael, his shirt was discarded too. Gerry drank in the sight of Michael beneath him, body twisting as if trying to reshape itself under the steady movement of his hips; Michael’s form was blurry and angled all wrong but tangible and pulsing with a desire in time to Gerry’s heartbeat. 

Michael arched up against Gerry and Gerry lifted himself off him entirely. He growled, nails sharp on his hips, but Gerry wanted the sting of pain as he moved up Michael’s body. He knelt over Michael’s chest, dragging against him just to leave Michael slick with himself. Michael’s eyes glowed neon, bright and wanting as he smirked up at him. 

“Now you say it.” Michael’s voice was a low hum that vibrated through him and Gerry was hard pressed to not just straddle his face, feel those vibrations on his cock. 

“You’re right. I want you.” Gerry breathed, voice rough. Michael grinned and dragged his hips and Gerry all but threw himself onto Michael’s waiting tongue, rutting down against the uneven geometry that passed for Michael’s mouth. 

It felt like every nerve lit up at once. He tangled his hands in Michael’s hair to steady himself as Michael’s tongue swiped over his cock. Nothing could have prepared him for the way it felt to have Michael’s tongue  _ curl around  _ his clit, its uneven shape coiling against him and flicking at his piercing. He shouted at the feeling, hips jerking unsteadily as shapes with no name and colors with no form shot up his spine. Michael teased the hood of his clit and a sound ripped from him like he was possessed, high and desperate. 

He would have been embarrassed about how quickly Michael was able to take him apart with just his tongue if it wasn’t the most arousing thing he’s ever felt — as if every atom of his being was being rewritten to conduct and amplify and distort the pleasure Michael dragged from him with each flick of his tongue. He curled over him, chasing the euphoria of unbecoming with each aborted jerk of his hips. 

Then Michael dipped his tongue into him, curling in and twisting and  _ hummed  _ and Gerry cried out as the distorted sound rippled through him deeper than he could have ever imagined, thighs shaking around Michael as he came. It was indescribable, the sensation of falling apart and being taken apart from the inside out, and Michael  _ did _ , lapping at him in a movement that shouldn't have been possible from that angle. Gerry’s senses were gone, left only with neon in his eyes and the ringing of Michael’s laughter in his ears. 

Colors began to return to him in recognizable forms, though for how long he’d lost himself to the infinite pleasure of Michael’s mouth Gerry had no idea. It was Michael that brought him back to himself, his tongue still teasing his clit, and the shock of overstimulation was enough to make his whole body jolt. He shifted back, pulling away from Michael’s tongue as much as he could with Michael’s hands holding him in place. 

“ _ Shit, _ ” Gerry panted, voice high and rough. Michael laughed, mouth still dangerously close to his cunt and Gerry swore he could feel the sound rattle through him. 

“Seems you’ve gotten what you felt you were owed, my beholder,” Michael’s smirk was a near tangible thing. “And yet, you still desire.” As if to prove his point, Michael’s tongue darted out, and the sound that slipped from Gerry’s throat was, frankly, embarrassing.

“Its —  _ fuck  _ — not my fault it took you so long to finally get around to fucking me.” Gerry huffed. It took all of his self control not to throw himself back onto Michael’s mouth as his body recovered from his first orgasm — every part of him ached to feel that unknowable pleasure again. 

“Maddening, isn’t it?” Michael’s grin was sharp, full of a dangerous promise, and who was Gerry to turn down such an offer. 

He thought better of a reply. Instead, he shook off Michael’s grasp, twisting to shift his knees and face away from him, all but pressing his cunt into Michael’s face. Michael’s giggle was muffled against him, but he still felt it, shaking through him like an earthquake. He stifled a moan and leaned down, swallowing around Michael’s cock. Michael makes a sound — a growl, a moan, a peal of thunder, dark laughter, anything, everything — and the sound pulsed into him in time with Michael’s tongue. 

Gerry groaned around Michael, taking him into his throat. Michael changed against his tongue and the sensation was indescribable, but shot pleasure through him in time with Michael’s tongue teasing his clit. He brought a hand up to cup Michael’s balls and Michael’s whole body jerked, a movement more like snapshots than fluid motion. He moved to mouth at them and Michael made a sound like a record scratching, pushing his hips up into his mouth as Gerry ground his hips down against Michael’s mouth, chasing the vibrations of his moans with his cock. 

Sometimes it felt less like they were having sex and more like it was a competition — Gerry hollowed his cheeks and sucked Michael’s cock using every dirty trick he knew; Michael thrust his tongue so deep into him Gerry saw stars. Gerry licked into Michael’s cunt, fucking him open until his jaw ached. Michael laved his tongue over his cock and cunt until Gerry’s thighs were shaking and he was grinding down against him in small, aborted movements, trying to chase any firmer contact. Gerry lost himself to the sensation of Michael and only Michael lighting up behind his eyes and up his spine. Michael moaned openly, body vibrating like his color and shape were falling apart, like he was bleeding out of this plane of existence. 

Michael’s nails bit into the backs of his thighs, scratching lines of sharp pleasure down sensitive skin and he cried out into him. His senses fractaled outwards, spiraling away from him, but he didn’t need his vision to take Michael apart with his mouth, didn’t need to see or hear to  _ know  _ how Michael whimpered and shook under him. 

It could have been a trick of his pleasure-addled mind, but as Michael’s tongue pressed hard against the spot in him that left him blind to the world, Gerry would have sworn that he felt Michael’s pleasure as his own. Some distorted feedback loop, the feeling of giving and receiving the same pleasure, over and over, recursive and euphoric. He’d lost the ability to tell if he was moaning but the sentiment was the same as he and Michael curled too deep into each other, grounded only by the sensation of Michael’s nails digging into him, and his nails digging into Michael. He felt less like he was on the edge of an orgasm and more like he was on the edge of an epiphany, a reckoning of pleasure. 

Gerry pressed his tongue flat against Michael’s clit, dragging his piercing against him, letting the way they both shook reverberate through him. Michael made a sound Gerry couldn’t hear but he could  _ feel _ , like a shock to his system as Michael came. Michael thrashed  _ into  _ him and Gerry felt his whole body light up at once as he tumbled over the edge with Michael. They rode out each others’ pleasure, tangled in limbs and lust where there was no distinction where one ended and the other began, just the bright pulsing heat of blood. 

Time returned to Gerry with no sense of how much had lapsed in his absence. He rolled off Michael, shifting to lay bonelessly against him on the floor. Michael moved in a way that made his head hurt, laying his head next to Gerry’s. Gerry offered him a wry grin and he could feel Michael’s cum shift against his skin but he didn’t have it in him to care, not when his whole body pulsed in time to an alien beat, the shifting shape of the fractals that were Michael. Michael’s face shifted into something more recognizable to grin back. 

“Fuck,” Gerry let out a breath he didn’t know he was holding, like his lungs had only just remembered to work. Michael giggled, and the sound settled over him like pins and needles. 

“Eloquent.” 

“Shut up.” Gerry tugged on a loose curl of Michael’s mane, sticky with his own cum. Michael trailed a long, sharp finger down his sternum, pausing to press one of the myriad of bruises he’d left. 

“It did take too long,” Michael hummed, “to get to this.” Gerry laughed, hoarse and nearly unrecognizable as his own voice. 

“Ha, regret not marking me earlier?” 

“I could take you to madness, like that.” 

“Look I appreciate it, but two good orgasms isn’t quite enough to literally drive me out of my mind.” Gerry smirked, and Michael mirrored him, like looking through warped glass. 

“Not here, maybe.” Michael glanced at the door they lay in front of. 

“In your dreams,” Gerry chuckled. 

“I don’t dream.” He spoke like it was a challenge.

“Like how you don't want?” He teased. 

“Shut up.” Michael stuck out his tongue and Gerry would never admit it aloud, but his pulse jumped at the sight. 

“Eloquent.” Some distant part of him wondered how he could have ever reached the point of bantering with a manifestation of the fear of madness, but how he got there seemed to matter a lot less than actually being there, watching the hypnotic way Michael’s eyes changed as he looked him over, watching his own cum dry on his face. He lay back for a moment, letting himself bask in post-fuck lethargy before glancing over at Michael again. Michael’s gaze had not wavered. “You called me ‘ _your_ _beholder’_.” 

“And?” Michael had just enough distinct facial features to quirk an eyebrow.

“Wrong on two counts, I’m afraid.” 

“Yes you are. Afraid, that is.” 

“Of you? Not anymore.” Gerry had long since learned to stop being afraid of inevitabilities. Michael was his least fearsome. 

“Enter my door, then you’ll see. Or rather, you won’t.” Michael’s grin showed off too many teeth. 

“What a very encouraging sentence.” He had to physically keep himself from rolling his eyes. “I’ll pass, thank you.”

“Perhaps you will this time.” Michael hummed, a sound Gerry could practically see.

“ _ This time _ I would like to shower. And you’re just as much a mess as I am.”

“Is that an invitation?”

“You won’t melt in water, right?” 

“You won’t get rid of me that easily.”

“Then yeah, it’s an invitation.” Michael rolled to his feet, a movement that had too many bends where joints didn’t belong. He offered a long hand to Gerry and hauled him up off the floor like he weighed nothing at all. Gerry resolutely did not think about the implications of that.

* * *

Michael disappeared soon after getting out of the shower — Gerry wasn’t surprised, Michael didn’t exactly strike him as the cuddling type. Frankly, he wouldn’t have expected him to even get in the shower if he hadn’t been such a mess. Not that Gerry fared any better. 

He took stock of himself in the mirror. He’d seen the hickeys, of course, getting into the shower it was hard to miss them. What surprised him, though, was the hickeys themselves. For starters, there were some places Gerry had no memory of Michael biting him — how he’d managed that, he had no idea, but the bruises on his hips and thighs were as distinct and unmistakable as the ones on his neck and collarbone. The more noteworthy thing about them, though, was their shape. Each bruise looked, upon first glance, like any other, but as he squinted at one in the mirror, he could see it  _ pulse _ . The edges of the mark shifted and changed like an optical illusion, and Gerry swore he could see fractaling patterns in them. 

But the hickeys paled in comparison to the utter  _ mortification _ he felt when he realized that bites were not the only way he’d been marked. Over his cheeks, his chin, down his neck, across his hands, were faint lines, light and almost glowing, that fractaled out, branching like lightning. Gerry had no proof of the concept, but he could not shake the certainty that stains were from Michael, where he’d touched him, where he’d gotten Michael’s cum on his skin. 

He really, really hoped his concealer would cover everything when he got ready for work in the morning.

* * *

To Gerry’s great relief, the stains on his skin were gone by the next morning. The hickeys were still there, but a turtleneck and concealer covered them all for the most part, and aside from doing some statement research in the institute, he didn’t have anywhere else to be—no heavy lifting to worry about. 

He didn’t see Michael’s door on the way to the institute — he wasn’t really sure what to make of that. On the one hand, he didn’t necessarily want Michael showing up at the institute, especially when he was still covered in hickeys. On the other hand, well, Gerry hadn’t had sex that good in ages, so maybe a part of him hoped it wouldn’t be the only time. 

Either way, he did actually have work to do, mind-blowing sex aside. 

He greeted Rosie as he entered and headed to the archives. The light in Gertrude’s office was off, but he could see movement on the other side of the door, just barely. The window was covered, had been for a while, but he was used to having to look under the door for signs of Gertrude. 

Gerry slipped in the door, not wanting to leave it open for too long in case Gertrude was doing something important with her office pitch black. She was bent over her desk with a blacklight torch, examining something that, in the dim purple light, looked like a regular wooden box. She didn’t even look up as he entered. 

“How nice of you to join me, Gerard.” 

“What are you working on this time?” He approached her desk, peering at the box dubiously. 

“An artefact of the Dark, I believe. Or a statement giver is just very good at losing things.” 

“Both equally likely.” Gerry said wryly. 

“That’s the trouble of it.” Gertrude hummed, “Do you want to have a stab at it?”

“With a knife?”

“The torch,” She looked up at him, shining the torch at him, then paused. “Gerard.”

“What?” He held up his hand, a supplicant gesture, then he saw it. 

The stains from Michael were not as gone as he’d thought. The fractaling patterns on his hands shone stark against his skin in the blacklight. He didn’t want to know what his face looked like.

“What on Earth did you do?” Gertrude raised an eyebrow at him, voice flat in an almost accusatory way. Gerry remembered why most people were afraid of her. 

“Well, uh -” He started.  _ Fuck _ . 

“Actually, do not tell me, I do not want to hear it.” Gertrude shook her head, waving the torch back at the box. “You’re an adult, if you’re doing something stupid, that’s your business.” 

“I’m not -” 

“Good. Get out of here and look into that Corruption book instead. I have this handled here.” 

“Fine. Where was that statement?”

“It’s in the box labeled 1985-1990. Now get out of my office.”

If Gerry retreated faster than usual, who could blame him. 

* * *

It was a full three days before Gerry saw Michael again. By that point, the stains had faded from his skin — and he had been checking to make sure. Though most of the hickeys were still visible, if faded. Gertrude had kept him busy, between looking for the Corruption Leitner and investigating the movements of a member of the cult of the Lightless Flame. Busy as he was, he kept an eye out for Michael’s door, just in case. 

He went home the fouth night after fucking Michael to find him sitting on his coffee table. 

“Oh,” Gerry blinked at him. “Hey, you’re back.”

“Miss me?” Michael’s face was just human enough to show how he grinned at him, waving a long, sharp hand. 

“Ha, more like just waiting for you to show up and try and scare the shit out of me again.” Gerry smirked, kicking off his boots. 

Michael hummed noncommittally, like the rumble of an engine, or the purr of a large cat. Gerry settled himself on the couch across from Michael. He wasn’t relaxed, per se, not that he ever was, but just because they’d fucked didn’t mean he was ready to completely let his guard down. 

Michael watched him with an odd light in his eyes, unreadable and inhuman as ever. His gaze was hard to follow, but Gerry couldn’t shake the idea that those glowing neon eyes were tracing the fractaling pattern of each hickey still visible. Gerry was used to the way being watched felt, he spent a good amount of time at the Magnus Institute, after all, but this felt different. Less like otherworldly knowledge and more personal, more grounded, and for lack of a better way to put it, more intimate. 

“So are we gonna talk about last time or — ?” Gerry said after a long stretch of silence that Michael showed no sign of breaking. Michael cocked his head at him.

“You do not expect clarity.” 

“No, but I would like to know, you know, what’s going on.”

“You ask the wrong entity, then.”

“Shut up, that’s not what I meant and you know it.” Gerry said, fighting back a grin. He shifted to try and kick Michael’s shin and his foot passed right through him. Michael giggled. 

“Questions need not be asked if you know the answer, beholder.” 

“Some people ask questions to be polite, Distortion.”

“Some beings ask questions to drive humans insane.” Michael’s grin took up too much of his face, showing off rows of teeth. 

“Which one’s this one, then?” Gerry challenged. There was a split second where Michael paused, gaze sweeping over him like a gust of wind. Then he uncurled himself like a spring, pushing Gerry back into the couch in the blink of an eye. Up close, Gerry could just barely make out where he’d left his own hickey on Michael’s neck. Gerry tangled a hand in Michael’s hair. Michael formed some semblance of a mouth to kiss him with. 

Gerry knew asking the Distortion for clear answers was more often than not a futile task. But neither of them were creatures of commitment. Michael’s lips moved against his own, making way for tongue, and maybe that was answer enough for now. 

* * *

It probably should have scared Gerry, how quickly he let Michael get close, how quickly sleeping with a literal extension of the fear of madness became a regular occurrence. It was easy for him to write it off, at first, rationalizing that if Michael was with him, he wasn’t off feeding on some poor ignorant person’s fear. 

Maybe Michael hung around because he liked the lies Gerry told himself. If that were the case, Gerry was a veritable buffet. 

But even that seemed wrong. Too simple, maybe. Michael was not, in Gerry’s experience, simple or even understandable in any regard. 

“Really? Now?” Gerry asked, though it was a fruitless endeavor to shoo away Michael at the best of times. 

“The Eye tells you little if you did not See this coming.” Michael grinned at him, flipping long blond curls over his shoulder.

“I anticipated you showing up but you still have to get out of my car. I have work to do.” Gerry glared at him in the passenger seat. He did not feel very inclined to start his car with Michael inside, he didn’t need the Eyes influence to tell him that wouldn’t end well. 

“You do not seem particularly busy.” Michael said, drawing spirals in the wood paneling of the door. 

“I’d be gone already if you weren’t in my car. I have a statement to be following up on.” 

“What a good little assistant you are.” His voice had less mockery than Gerry had come to expect, but it didn’t stop him from rolling his eyes. 

“Still not an assistant. Get out of my car, I’ll go back to my flat once I’m done.” 

“And if I do not leave?” Michael leaned over the armrest, mouth dangerously close to Gerry’s. 

“Holy shit, I am not fucking you in my car.” Gerry never thought he’d have to say that. Michael’s face split into a grin that curled far too far across his cheeks.

“We need not pass time here.”

“I’m not fucking you in your hallways, either.”

What had his life come to. 

Gerry wondered at it, how quickly he’d become used to Michael’s semi-regular presence in his flat. Weeks turned into months, seamlessly — Michael showed up when he pleased, and yes, he was frustrating, but Gerry felt himself walking the dangerous line of considering Michael a friend. He shouldn’t have, he knew that, he fought the entities and Michael was tied to the Spiral far more than most avatars were to their patrons.

But. Michael still did not threaten him. He bared his teeth, flaunted knife-sharp fingers, twisted into shapes and colors that made Gerry’s head pound and his body recoil. But he didn’t hurt him. 

Well — Gerry thought, glancing at the long, fractaling scratches down his back in the mirror — Michael didn’t hurt him more than he wanted him to. 

God, he was fucked. 

Michael peeked his head in the bathroom, leaning in in a way that should not have been possible. He felt a little vindicated, knowing he gave as good as he got. 

“Enjoying your handiwork?” Gerry teased as Michael looked him over. Michael giggled, tapping long fingers against the doorframe. 

“I am no worker of clay.” Michael’s words carried a lilt that, if Gerry didn’t know better, he would have called fond. “But such is creation.” 

“You sure did a number creating on my back.” He said with a wry grin. 

“And your gaze has not left them.” Michael came up behind him, tracing a long, sharp finger down one of the scratches. Gerry had to fight against the urge to shudder. 

“Yeah, you left fractals down my back.” He was proud he kept the shudder out of his voice as Michael traced back up the branching pattern that marked his spine. 

“You are enjoying my design just as much.” Michael’s voice echoed around him, soft and teasing as his touch.

“Not quite as much as you are, it seems.” 

“To think of what marks could be left, given the opportunity —”

“I am not entering your door.” He cut him off before Michael could bring it up. He didn’t need the Eye to tell him that’s where Michael was going.

“I could change your mind —” 

“Nope, I am not arguing this again.” Gerry met Michael’s gaze in the mirror, the glow of his eyes casting odd shadows. Michael grinned at him, showing off sharp teeth that not too long before had been pressing bruises into his neck. He rolled his eyes, to hide the way his pulse jumped at the sight.

Michael didn’t let the idea drop. That hardly surprised Gerry, and to be quite honest, he was surprised Michael hadn’t tricked him into entering his door yet. But he’d managed it thus far. It wasn’t that he thought Michael would kill him — if Michael wanted him dead he’d have been dead months ago — but crossing into the Distortion’s hallways felt too much, too dangerous, too stupid, even for him. 

It was, however, getting harder and harder to define something as too reckless when some nights, occasionally, he found himself laying in his bed with his head in Michael’s lap. 

Michael’s fingers felt surprisingly good, combing through his hair. It probably should have scared him, having those sharp hands near his head. But Gerry had long since given fear its dismissal, and Michael had long since proven himself more bark than bite. He wasn’t truly relaxed, he wasn’t sure he ever had been, but he set tension aside for the time being, listening to the lilt of Michael’s voice echo around his room. 

“Have I driven you out of your mind?” Michael asked, voice echoing around the bedroom and falling flat all at once. Gerry snorted, glancing up to watch the way he twisted and shifted in form and color above him.

“Not anymore than I was before.” He shook his head — though whether or not he was already insane for fucking him in the first place was up for debate. Michael hummed, the sound seeming to travel through Gerry as much as the air. Gerry smirked up at him. “I’ve told you, you’d have to try harder than that.”

“You won’t come through my door.” Michael said, and if he were human, Gerry would have called him petulant.

“If I cross your threshold, you’ll leave me there.” Gerry said wryly, lightly tugging on an impossible curl of blond hair that fell around him.

“Ha,” Michael’s laughter washed over Gerry like cotton, “I would not.”

“Nice try.” 

“My scholar, why leave you there when you having to leave would be more than maddening enough?” 

“That one’s not right either.” 

Michael giggled, and it seemed to disturb the air too much. “Not a researcher, scholar, or student. Assistant only in name. No title for you.” He grinned down at him, somewhere between mocking and curious.

“I don’t need one.”

“I suppose I could just call you  _ mine _ .” The echo made the hair on his arms stand up. Michael dragged his hand through Gerry’s hair with a deliberateness, and Gerry let him — he understood Michael’s displays of threat for what they were. And, if it ever came to it, his knife was under his pillow, just in case.

“And you wonder why I won’t enter your door.” 

Michael laughed. “And you say you are not afraid.”

“I’d hardly call this fear.” Gerry smirked at him

“And  _ I  _ am called the throat of delusion.” Michael traced a finger over the spiraling shape of a hickey on his shoulder. 

“‘Should call you the tongue of delusion.” Gerry twisted, pushing Michael back to lean over him. Michael went easily, grinning up at him as Gerry leaned down to kiss him, laying on him chest to chest. He could taste Michael’s giggle on his lips as Michael brought his hands back up to tangle in his hair.

He was pretty sure one of these days Michael would drive him crazy without even needing to enter his door. He’d never admit it, but it didn’t sound like the worst fate. 

* * *

Gerry knew that, eventually, walking into the institute covered in hickeys was going to cause problems. Hell, it had already caused him problems. But for the most part, aside from that first time, he’d managed to mostly avoid being around Gertrude too much without at least some kind of concealer on. It was just easier for everyone. 

Today he was not so fortunate. It wasn’t his fault he was tracking someone touched by the Buried. It might have been a little bit his fault that he wasn’t quite as careful where he was stepping and fell into a big hole, but unfortunately that meant having to shower at the archives. 

Gertrude just happened to corner him in her office before he’d had time to finish cleaning up. 

“Gerard,” she said in that tone that set off all his flight alarms. 

“Gertrude.” He replied, trying very hard not to feel like a teenager being scolded for running away again. 

“You are old enough to take care of your own damn self, but it is not hard to guess where those bruises are coming from.” She put her hands on her hips. Gerry thought he wouldn’t mind if the Buried manifested another pit under him at this very moment. “If this was only about you doing something incredibly irresponsible, that would be one thing. But we have much bigger matters at stake here.”

“Are you asking me if I can still do my job?” Gerry figured it was better to just get to the point rather than talking around it.

“Yes.” Her tone was flat. 

“Of course I can still do my job. I’ve  _ been _ doing it.” He’d certainly not been slacking. Gertrude seemed unconvinced.

“And if we go up against the Spiral?” She challenged, quirking an eyebrow. He scoffed.

“What did you do, when you went up against the Desolation?” He shot back. He understood why she was asking, really, he did, but that didn’t mean he was going to let her be hypocritical about getting personally involved. She narrowed her eyes at him, tapping her fingers together. 

“That was a different circumstance.” 

“Yeah, I bet.” 

“Gerard, this is serious. I need to know if you’re compromised.” 

“I am  _ not. _ ” He said forcefully. “You seem to have managed just fine with Agnes.” 

“I take your point, Gerard.” Gertrude said with a sigh, giving him another once over. “Just ensure you know what you’re doing.” She paused. “And I wish you would stop coming in covered in hickeys.” 

“Like you never came into work with burn marks.” Gerry said with a smirk. If looks could kill, Gertrude would have murdered him in cold blood. 

“Get out of my office. Go clean yourself up.”

* * *

Gerry was busy the next few days. He figured it was Gertrude’s way of both getting back at him and making sure he was still trustworthy, both stupid reasonings, but if their positions were switched he wasn’t sure he’d have done anything different. Regardless, chasing an avatar of the Vast was both important and a pain in the ass — he barely was at his flat for almost a week. 

When he finally returned to his flat, hands clapped over his eyes. Normally, he would have panicked — and honestly he should have panicked more, given how very inhuman, long, and sharp those hands felt — but he knew Michael’s tricks. Knowing didn’t stop him from jumping, though, but he did manage to keep in any startled sounds, and his heartrate didn’t skyrocket like it used to when Michael snuck up on him. 

“Hello, Michael.” He wouldn’t ask if he missed him, he knew he wouldn’t get an answer even if he did. 

“My seer.” Michael purred and Gerry huffed out a chuckle. 

“No, that’s still wrong.” Michael kept a hand over Gerry’s eyes as he turned him to face him. 

“The Eye makes you so audacious.” Gerry could feel Michael’s lips brush his own. He reached up blindly to tangle his hands in the impossible mane of Michael’s hair, leaning closer.

“Or you do.” Gerry said, and he could feel Michael’s grin against him, too wide and curling all wrong as he pulled him into a kiss. Michael finally moved his hands off Gerry’s eyes, curling one hand behind his neck and the other wrapping far more around his waist than any hand should. Gerry tugged on as much hair he could get his hands on, unconcerned with how forcefully he pulled, and Michael purred against his lips. He finally cracked his eyes open just to watch the way Michael’s form shifted. Something that was supposed to be a tongue curled against his mouth and Gerry hummed back, a low sound pulled from the back of his throat as he parted his lips. 

Kissing Michael was less like kissing and more like being intoxicated — every brush of lips or curl of Michael’s impossible tongue sent sparks down his spine. He gave as good as he got, his tongue piercing clacking against Michael’s teeth. Each pause for breath between kisses made it hard to want to think of anything but the toe-curling pleasure that the contact brought. Gerry moaned, another sound unspooled from him as Michael’s sharp finger traced the ridges of his spine. 

Gerry’s stomach dipped as Michael scooped him off the floor entirely, holding him up with only one hand, seemingly effortlessly. He chuckled breathlessly against Michael’s mouth, hooking his legs around what would have been waist high on a normal person. Michael’s body felt all wrong against him, sharp and angled in ways that only passed as a human silhouette until touched. He never would have admitted aloud how much he enjoyed that sensation, the feeling of touching Michael and knowing how unknowable that form truly was, and the ensuing fear from such a thought had heat radiating through him.

“Bed,” Gerry managed to get out the next time Michael gave him a moment to breathe. 

“Eager?” Michael teased against him.

“It’s been a shit week.” He huffed and Michael giggled against his lips. The eerie glow from Michael’s eyes cast colors Gerry had no words for across the backs of his eyelids as their lips met again. Michael carried him through his flat easily, despite Gerry using the little height advantage being held gave him to try to kiss Michael as senseless as Michael kissed him. It wasn’t until Gerry started biting at Michael’s lips that Michael growled at him — he had a moment to savor that victory before Michael pushed him up against a door and chased the sound down his throat. 

By the time Michael pulled away again, Gerry was starting to go dizzy with the force of the kiss, and the lack of oxygen. Michael’s pupils swirled and his hair seemed to move on its own; to call it hypnotic would be too blunt. 

“My dreamer,” Michael purred, still close enough to brush his lips. 

“This is not my bedroom door.”

“It is not.” The grin that split Michael’s face was relentlessly smug, revealing too many sharp teeth. 

He had suspected this was coming. After what Michael had said the week before, it was no surprise, really. And some damned part of him was so  _ curious —  _ the Beholding’s inclination in him, he’d wager, but knowing that didn’t help alleviate it. But he was also familiar with the draw of the Spiral’s door, and he  _ knew  _ that this wasn’t that. Not that knowing  _ that _ helped either. Gerry knew that when Michael had teased madness what he’d meant by that, and fuck, he wanted it, wanted to know, to experience what was promised. Michael had been teasing it for so long. 

“Set me down.” 

He was surprised by how readily Michael cooperated, though the too-wide smile stayed in place, with an accompanying teasing tone. “Not this ti-”

Gerry did not give Michael the opportunity to finish his sentence. Once he was steady on his feet, he grabbed Michael by the shirt collar and spun them both, using his advantage of surprise to shove Michael roughly up against the door. He slipped a knee between Michael’s legs and grinned, more baring his teeth than smiling. 

“You want this bad,” He teased right back, punctuating his words with a press of his thigh against Michael. The sound Michael made was primal, distorted and wrong, but Gerry had long since grown accustomed to the way Michael’s moans rattled his teeth. 

“Ha,” It was hard to tell, with the headache-inducing way Michael’s voice echoed, whether the laughter was breathless. But color swirled across Michael’s cheeks, neon and shifting in a way that was hard to follow, never one color but all of them. “I did not lie about that.”

Gerry leaned up to kiss Michael again, hard and dirty. He bit at Michael’s lips, taking one between his teeth and pulling. Michael growled against him and bit back, sharp teeth catching his lips and tongue. When Gerry broke the kiss, he could feel his mouth tingle from the onslaught. 

“You better live up to your own promises.” He said against Michael’s mouth, and reached down to grab the door handle. He watched Michael carefully, saw as all of Michael’s features shifted as he touched the door, and if Gerry had to compare it to any human expression, he’d have said it was like Michael’s eyes fluttering or rolling back into his head, but his whole being. The hitch in his breath was much easier to pin down. 

Michael’s laughter comes out more like a huff but it still bounced around the room all wrong. “My beholder, have I ever lied to you?” The grin that split Michael’s face was challenging, as if daring him to back down. Gerry turned the knob and thrust the door open.

The hallway was wrong. Gerry wasn’t surprised by that, but by the way the wrongness  _ felt.  _ Maybe he was just too used to the way being near Michael for too long made his skin crawl, or maybe it was some design of Michael’s, but the wrongness was not too  _ unsettling _ , it was too  _ familiar _ . It was a dizzying color, never quite the same hue the more Gerry looked, but not kaleidoscopic enough to be truly described as multicolored either. To his surprise, the hallway was decorated, mostly in mirrors, reflecting the way he and Michael tangled together in nauseating shapes refracted back at him. It was wider than he’d imagined, too, but that he was willing to bet was due to Michael’s plan for him. 

Gerry skimmed a hand over the wall closest to him, just to confirm it was tangible and Michael made a sound somewhere between a growl and a moan. He smirked, splaying his hand against the wall, scratching with his nails, and with a sound like a clap of thunder, Michael was on him, kissing him fiercely. He closed his eyes against the onslaught of incomprehensible visible information in favor of savoring the feeling of Michael against him, biting at his lips, coming dangerously close to drawing blood. It was indescribable, to feel its form start to change against him. He chased the feeling of Michael’s mouth warping — too wide, too sharp — with his own, biting as much as he was bitten. Its hand snaked under his shirt, too boneless to even pass as human. Michael dragged its hand up his spine, leaving raised lines in its wake. Gerry moaned into the kiss, and again as Michael’s hand grazed back down his shoulder blade, the path of the sharp not-fingers sending shivers through him as the stinging pain mingled with hot, bright pleasure. 

Abruptly, the hands on him were gone. Gerry jolted at the sudden lack of contact, ready to fall or stumble, but every sense told him he was laying flat on his back, though things like up and down were getting harder and harder to keep track of. He could not remember being moved, but opening his eyes, Michael loomed over him, eyes glowing neon in the dim light as it looked him over. 

“So vulnerable,” Michael purred, its voice seeming to come from all around him at once. 

“Maybe I am already crazy,” Gerry huffed out some approximation of a chuckle. Michael’s laughter didn’t originate from the less than human shape that leered down at him. 

“Not yet,” It trailed a finger down his stomach and Gerry had to fight the urge to arch into the contact. “But you will be.”

“Big talk for someone who hasn’t even taken my clothes off yet.” Gerry challenged — not because he didn’t believe Michael but because he wanted so badly what its words promised. 

“So impatient.” Its hand slipped under his shirt again, pushing it upwards with an agonizingly slow drag of its fingers. Gerry bit back a whine. 

“You’ve been talking this up so much,” He said instead, though his voice came out far more breathless than he’d have liked. “I would have thought you had some big plan once you got me here.” 

“Oh I do,” Michael crooned, bunching his shirt up at his armpits. A sharp finger traced his nipple, torturously light as it teased his piercing. He couldn’t stop the gasp that slipped out of him at the sensation, Michael’s contact feeling more sensitive than usual, sending pleasure up and down his spine. “I just want to take my time with you, now that I have you.”

Whatever clever response Gerry may have had was driven from his mind as Michael turned sharp, scraping both hands down his chest. He arched into the feeling, moaning as the pain distorted to pleasure distorted to  _ something else.  _ Michael pushed his shirt up over his head and descended on him, pressing something that could charitably be called a kiss into him. Its form twisted over him as Gerry scrambled to cling to it, anything to anchor himself in the onslaught of sensation as Michael’s approximation of a tongue licked at his teeth. Gerry buried his hands in the swirling mane of blond hair that curled and floated around Michael, pulling it hard to bring Michael closer. 

Michael felt all wrong against him, losing its human shape in its own domain, but Gerry didn’t care. He reveled in the way it pressed him into the floor, every point of contact sending static through his veins until he was shaking, breaking the kiss to gasp for air.

“ _ Fuck _ ,” Gerry panted, then choked on a groan as Michael moved lower, biting at the sensitive spot under his jaw. He threw his head back to give it better access as it sucked bruises down the column of his neck. He should have been afraid, having its sharp teeth at his neck, but they’d been doing this for too long, and he was too lost in the way Michael’s mouth against him feels like an adrenaline high, buzzing through him and making his hips twitch. He was embarrassingly wet already, he could tell, but Michael bit his collarbone and he didn’t  _ care,  _ thoughts consumed by the fractals that arced behind his eyelids. 

Michael moved lower, teeth scraping over his sternum before moving to lave over his chest. The first swipe of Michael’s tongue over his tit had Gerry arching his back into its mouth, clutching at its hair to ground himself as a wave of pure pleasure rattled his senses. Michael laughed against him, the sound buzzing into his skin almost tangibly, the vibrations of it travelling through him as though he could feel it, not hear it. It tugged at his piercing with its teeth and Gerry shouted, pulling hard on Michael’s hair. He swore as Michael repeated the motion, alternating between teasing him with its too-long not-tongue and torturing him with its teeth. Gerry would be embarrassed about how close to coming he felt if Michael’s mouth didn’t feel like euphoria — overwhelming all his senses until the world dissolved to just that moment and that mouth. 

An impression came to Gerry, breaking through the dizzy haze of pleasure just for a moment. He had no way to describe the sensation of  _ knowing _ Michael was teasing him, asking without words ‘going to fall apart already’ in its insufferable smugness. As he understood its teasing, it moved to his other nipple, tugging on the piercing with its teeth and Gerry threw his head back, wild twisting shapes flashing behind his eyes and sparking down his spine. Michael pressed itself between his legs, some approximation of a thigh for him to grind against as Gerry’s hips jerked. And the contact was  _ exquisite _ , arcing through him until he was sure every cell in his body was shaking, swirling in impossible forms. 

Then Michael bit him again and every sense fragmented. There was a sound foreign to his ears, heard as if through water, and he thought it might have been himself. Pleasure pulsed through him for an unknowable amount of time — the Distortion could make a moment feel eternal if it so desired. Gerry’s vision was prisms and fractals, white hot pleasure he could  _ taste _ . He drifted on the form constants, his orgasm folding over him perpetually in a self-similar pattern until it was all he knew.

Gerry didn’t know how long it took him to start to come back to himself. Without the sharp pleasure-pain of Michael’s teeth leaving another hickey on his neck, he wasn’t sure he’d have been able to tell what was coming down from the high of orgasm and what was the effect of the Spiral’s domain. 

“ _ Fuck _ , Michael” He panted, voice raspy. Michael laughed into his skin, the sound skittering over him like a static shock. Gerry bit back a humiliating sound as Michael tugged at the waistband of his trousers. 

“And you accused  _ me  _ of wanting this,” It teased. “How much can I wring from you, I wonder?” The hand at his hip turned sharp and its voice echoed around him until his head was pounding, and each pulse sending blood rushing downward. Gerry gripped Michaels hair and pulled hard, tugging it upwards, pressing a fierce kiss to the thing that wasn’t a mouth anymore. Michael hummed into his mouth and the noise settled in his lungs. The thing that used to be its tongue curled into his mouth, far more than any human tongue ever could. Gerry bit at it, chasing every soft sound that fell from Michael and reveling in the way each one felt like cotton, like he could feel Michael’s pleasure as his own. 

“To madness.” Gerry smirked against it, twisting his hand in its hair, and it laughed again. 

“What if I were to leave now? Would that not drive you mad?” Everything about Michael grinning against his lips felt wrong, felt inhuman, and he pulled it closer, just to get more of that feeling.

“You wouldn’t.” Gerry said, and it wasn’t a question, it was the truth. “You can’t resist the chance to have me out of my mind. And besides,” He grinned and jerked his hips upwards, grinding against the form of Michael between his thighs. “You still need to take what’s yours.” He wasn’t sure if it had anything recognizable as genitalia there anymore — not that it could still be called clothed, but its form was indistinct, trying to follow any anatomy made light pulse behind his eyes in time with the fractals that curled through it. Regardless, his movement did the trick as Michael curled over him, bending and surrounding him in a way that shouldn’t be possible — too much, too far, in all the wrong places. It shuddered and its form seemed to blur, the colors and shapes composing its body becoming less tangible, more distorted, shifting constantly as though it would never settle. 

“Perhaps, if I thought the reward of leaving you here was better than staying.” It pondered, but its echo could not hide how affected it was, and Gerry knew it would never — could never — come to that conclusion. But he also knew Michael dealt in lies, and who was he to deny its true nature when its true nature was grinding against him, sending sparks like fireworks up his spine, flashing behind his eyes. 

“ _ Ha _ ,” He gasped, somewhere between a laugh and a pant. “I’ll just prove to you stayings the better idea, then.” Michael bared its teeth at him. 

“So needy, practically begging are you, beholder?” 

“Well, so far you’re still mostly talk. We could’ve done this in my flat.” Gerry bit back. “If you’d fucking get on with your grand plan -” Michael cut him off with another approximation of a kiss. Its mouth moved hungrily against him, sharp teeth catching on his lips and tongue until it felt like he would go numb from the feeling, his eyes rolling back into his head. He worked a hand down between them, flicking open the fly of his jeans. Michael grabbed the waistband of his jeans and pants and shoved them down roughly. Gerry kicked them the rest of the way off and bared himself fully to it, vulnerable only in the technical sense and lost in the sense of Michael pressed fully against him. 

When Michael broke the kiss Gerry was gasping, soft, needy sounds falling from him as it ground against him. Its form was barely humanoid — a shape made of TV snow and fractals, in impossible shapes and impossible colors that made his eyes hurt when he tried to follow any part for too long. It was beautiful to behold, haloed by blond curls that looked more like a crown of tendrils than hair. Its features, if glanced at quickly, looked like eyes and they watched him squirm against it. It scratched down his sides and he arched into the contact, whining at the acute twist of pleasure. 

Gerry threw his head back as Michael scratched his chest, dangerously sharp over his tits and exhilarating. The mirrors on the walls showed red lines Michael left over his skin visible and stark despite the flush that covered him, the scratches branching and arching like lightning. Michael’s form loomed over him, its gaze as tangible a weight as the hands that gripped his hips. But Michael’s reflection was looking at him too, he could sense it, even as his eyes fluttered shut and a moan slipped from him at the way Michael moved against him, as if trying to dismantle him sense by sense. But even unseeing, he  _ knew _ the mirrors showed Michael watching him, every mirror on every wall in the infinite hallway that was Michael and pulsed in time with the way it ground against him. He moaned at the sense of infiniteness, the knowledge of  _ being _ in a place unknowable, and the feeling of Michael parting his legs further, as if he were on display.

“ _ Michael _ ,” Gerry bit out as its hands crept over his hips and down his inner thighs. It was  _ sharp,  _ toeing the line between pleasure and pain and fear — his skin was so sensitive like every nerve was lit up at once, focused intently on waiting for the bite of nail into thigh. When Michael scratched up his thigh he cried out, head thrown back and baring his throat, bursts of color behind his eyes and under his skin, heat conducted through him as though travelling each vein pumped from his heart and back until he couldn’t tell if it had drawn blood or if it had touched some deep part of him, punctured only metaphorically. It should have scared him, not knowing, but it didn’t — the jolt that ran through him and arched his spine was not fear. 

“Your trust is so unfathomable to you, isn’t it?” Michael hummed as he pressed into its sharp fingers digging into his hips. Gerry wondered, distantly, if it could see his thoughts, a lingering gift from the Eye, or if it just knew him too well. “It maddens you, doesn’t it — to put so much trust in a thing like me.” It paused, voice smug. “Perhaps it is instead that you revel in the vulnerability; you  _ like  _ the fear that being at my mercy like this instills in you.” Michael’s laughter echoed around the room and through his bones and he swore it felt like he was changing shape, becoming more unknowable — along its lines. “Maybe it is both.”

Whatever retort Gerry had was lost as a sharp finger teased lightly over his cunt. His whole body jerked, the rush of adrenaline from such a dangerous implement near his cunt twisting into dizzying arousal, his heart beating so fast he swore it’d beat right out of his chest. Michael’s form shifted over him, losing some semblance of shape it still had in favor of looming over him — if it was human Gerry was sure it’d be smirking at him. With no features that looked like a mouth for long enough to smirk, it traced a sharp finger over the bar piercing in his cock, and the teasing mockery felt the same, coupled with the flash of pleasure that blinded him.

“ _ Michael _ ,” he gasped between moans pulled from him by teasing touches that threatened real harm if he wasn’t careful. “Your hands — too sharp.” 

“Are you saying you don’t enjoy this?” Michael’s tone was teasing as a dangerously sharp finger traced the head of his dick. A whine choked from him and he couldn’t deny that  _ yes, he did enjoy it _ . But, dazzling as the patterns of pleasure that flashed through his skull were, he did not want to risk losing his dick for it. 

“Stop screwing around and - _ ah _ \- fuck me.” His voice was rough and he couldn’t keep the stutter from his voice. Michael’s laughter echoed around him and seemed to travel through every point of contact. 

“So demanding,” It purred and that vibrated through him too, but he could hardly think about anything as another, duller finger brushed over his lower lip, a gentle touch that was such a contrast to the sharp pleasure drawn out of him by the hand still toying with his cock that it left him dizzy. He parted for it and its fingers slipped over his tongue and down his throat. He couldn’t quite tell how many fingers, their form too indistinct, blurred together, but he laved his tongue over them nevertheless. His mouth felt full of cotton and static, though the fingers themselves were firm, each press against his tongue leaving him breathless and wanting. Saliva leaked from the corners of his mouth and his jaw was beginning to ache from holding it open but he didn’t care, lost between the taste and feel of Michael in his mouth and the pleasure between his legs. 

When Michael pulled its hand away, moments or hours later, Gerry was hard pressed to reign in the moan that fell from him with the saliva on his lips. Michael teased a wet finger over his cunt and he keened, pressing into the contact and the way it swirled up his spine. It was electrifying without electricity, spiraling through him in impossible patterns, driving every thought from his head. When the first finger pressed into him he threw his head back with a shout, the feeling of Michael curling so deep within him traveling out from the bright white center of him to where he thought his form ended and Michael’s began, but the line was blurring as it wrung pleasure from him like it was the only sensation he’d ever felt. 

Michael slipped another finger in beside the first — or was it up to three now? Gerry couldn’t tell. Its thumb pressed against his cock as it spread him open and he had no words for the pleasure that crashed over him with each movement of its hand. It knew too well how to take him apart — he was sure his very state of being was going to collapse under its ministrations, each neuron lighting up in technicolor brilliance. Gerry’s back arched as it toyed with his dick piercing again, mouth open around a wordless cry. Michael played his body like a violin, bow pulled taught and shaking with sound. He was caught precariously on the too-sharp tip of its finger, teetering on the brink of something  _ profound _ . 

Abruptly, it pulled away, retreating from him entirely. He cried out with the loss of contact, blinking away the starbursts from his vision and the ringing echo of his own cry from his ears to look up at Michael. 

“Fuck,  _ fuck _ ,” he panted, whole body shaking. “Fuck me, now, come on -” Maybe he was mad for begging for it, but he didn’t care,  _ couldn’t  _ care. If madness felt like that, he’d surrender to it at Michael’s hand. He’d fucked Michael before, rode its dick, tasted its cunt, but nothing before compared to the way he felt now — just blueprints to this culmination. It laughed at him and the sound sent pulses through his blood to his cock and he whined again. In the corner of his eye he caught a glimpse of one of the mirrors on the hallway’s wall. Reflected back to him was him, warped in pleasure, glowing in the ecstasy of it, bowed towards the shape of Michael, the conductor of the orchestra of his pleasure. 

“So vulnerable, so  _ desperate _ .” It crooned. “I can  _ smell _ your arousal. What now, beholder? Lose your mind to me leaving, or lose your mind to me here?”

“Stop talking and  _ fuck me _ ,” He growled, every part of him singing for the pleasure he knew it would give him. His arms shook with the overload of his senses as he grabbed fistfulls of the mane of curls around Michael’s form and yanked it down to him. He could feel what he assumed was its cock press against his stomach, wrong and ever-changing in shape, incomprehensible in appearance, and so overwhelming in just its contact he couldn’t stop himself from jerking up to grind against it if he wanted to. The shape against his stomach curled over him, against him, twisting and rewriting itself, and he’d never seen anything less human, and he’d never wanted anything more. Everything that was Michael was impossible to look at and understand — a thing of lust, crafted specifically to  _ wreck  _ him — his eyes were dizzy with it, but he couldn’t look away as his hips moved of their own accord. A moan emanated from Michael, a sound that was more sensation, closer to color than noise, and his back arched with each crest of the soundwaves and Michael ground down to meet him, each movement sending sparks of pleasure like shattering mirrors through him. The whole hallways seemed to roll with each contact of their bodies, echoing their pleasure back at them.

Gerry could hardly describe what happened next — it wasn’t that Michael moved him, but that everything seemed to move around him. He could no longer tell if he was flat on his back or up against a wall or touching anything at all but did the distinction even matter, in the hallway where Michael reigned. Things that felt like hands positioned him, he lost count of how many, one pinning his arms above his head, one curling loosely around his neck, two more spreading his thighs, more ghosting over his hips, up his spine, across his chest — he was  _ trembling _ , and all he could think was  _ more, more _ .

The impression of Michael grinning came to him, suddenly. He couldn’t see it, not that he could really see anything — vision full of impossible fractals and colors with no names and the ever-shifting shape of Michael that he could hardly make out through his daze. Its features swirled too fast to have anything like a grin for long enough to perceive, but Gerry could  _ feel  _ it, the smugness, the curl of its lips, the buzz of contact against his own like a kiss; he had no idea what sensation was real and what was given to him but each touch, real or not, sent his head spinning. He’d have been begging if his mind could find words but language was too comprehensible for a place like this, an experience like this. 

Hands held his thighs wide and Michael slid against him. Its cock brushed his own and he could feel its shape change as it touched him, twisting and writhing against his cunt. His mouth fell open around a sound he didn’t know he was capable of making. He felt lightheaded as he could feel more hands on him — dizzy with anticipation and need and want. 

But it did not keep him waiting. Gerry choked on any impatience he may have had as it pressed into him and the moan that fell from him was recognizable, though distorted by the way it seemed to shift in him, moving in a way nothing should. Michael filled him slowly, inexorably, twisting so deep he swore he could feel it curl into his blood, up his spine. Everything narrowed to the singular feeling of fractaling pleasure, building him new sensations as impossible as Michael’s existence from the inside out and he cried out from it. His hips rose to meet it, pressing into the nails digging into his hips and aching to chase more of the sharp pleasure-pain-pleasure that burned through him, every feeling it gave him heightened by the press of the hand around his throat and the air it stole from him as it fucked him so deep there was no sense to describe their culmination.

Gerry wasn’t sure how long it continued its aching fulfilment of him — his senses hardly worked, lost to the way Michael felt inside him. He had no words for the way it fucked into him, in him, through him; it hardly felt the same moment to moment, as ever-changing as the rest of Michael’s form. But the way it changed in him shook his body to the very core of his being, he could feel it rewrite itself inside him and he moaned raggedly at the twisting inside himself. He felt as though he were being shaped by it, molded, twisted, caught up in its angles and the repeating pattern of the fractal that blinded him in Michael’s silhouette. 

Michael paused for just a moment, stilling completely and Gerry cried out for it, shaking against its grasp, but the hand around his wrists held him still enough to only writhe against it. The hand around his neck tightened and Gerry gasped as Michael curled over him, near face to face. Gerry met its impossible gaze and a jolt of something like the fractal of lightning pulsed between them. 

“ _ Michael,”  _ His voice hardly sounded his own but he begged anyway, ragged and dizzy from the hand at his throat. Its laughter was shaky and echoed all wrong and settled against his skin like more sharp fingers. 

“Mine,” It purred, and  _ moved.  _

Everything that Gerry had ever expected fell away at the agonizing pleasure of Michael fucking him. It felt like he was coming undone at the seams. It felt like ecstasy in its purest form. It felt like nothing ever before and everything at once and Gerry lost himself to it, trembling and arching and moaning in a cacophony of feeling. His mouth fell open and from him boiled out  _ something _ — not words, not a cry, but syllables of no meaning that came out like they were being pulled from him. He’d later call it glossolalia, but as his perception shattered into fractaling pieces, from him tumbled the closest thing to a true name he’d ever be able to call Michael, sounds with no meaning but their no-meaning meant something. Gerry’s eyes were closed, but he could see-feel-perceive Michael above him, its form twisting like the sound that fell from his lips like prayer. For one eternal moment in a place with no time, Gerry understood why people devoted themselves to the worship of their entity, in the ecstasy of otherworldly pleasure. 

Gerry fell apart under the onslaught of sensation, unable to tell movement from touch, but it didn’t matter, not when Michael fucked into him as if he was meant for it. With each curl of pleasure, each pulse of bright sound behind his eyes, he swore he could feel the alien heartbeat, patternless but relentless, that Michael fucked him to. It echoed around them, the hallways distorting to the uneven waves of pleasure that synced with it. He could feel his own heart try to match it, tripping and stumbling on each until it felt like he couldn’t breathe, like his very physicality was being undone by sound and touch and shape. 

Then, it twisted inside him, and another hand pressed against his cock, and his senses left him entirely as his whole being spasmed. His orgasm twisted through him like a spiral with no beginning or end, a fractal that magnified itself over and over again through each cell and each nerve until that was all he knew. He was blind and deaf, and saw and heard all that was Michael and it was unknowable, it was madness, it was pleasure in its truest form.

As the shape of his pleasure morphed into something more knowable, the whole hallway  _ shook _ . It felt like everything that Michael was spiraled around him, body and hallway and everything else. Gerry had no way to describe how it felt to feel Michael’s orgasm as his own. Colors around him and behind his eyes melted, swirled, neon and unimaginable. He was touching nothing but Michael, all of it, and the rest swirled around him, its physicality gone, pulsing and beating like a kaleidoscopic heart of fractals. Michael made a sound Gerry couldn’t hear, beyond the human range of vocalizations but he felt it to his core, bright and hot. Everything collapsed in on itself and exploded outwards in energy and fractals with no shape at all and searing color and impossible geometry that was ear-splitting. Gerry arched into Michael and it arched into him and they entwined in a way Gerry could never put into words — terrifying and mad and euphoric. 

Gerry had no way of knowing how long it took him to clear the sounds from his vision and the fractals from his mind enough to form coherent thought. Becoming aware of himself again after minutes or years came in increments, the first step of which came in the feeling of Michael’s whole being curled around him. It should not have been able to bend like that, and it felt like static on his skin, but it was grounding, in a way, to feel something as external to himself again. The second step was the sound of Michael purring against him, a sound more like the hum of a microwave than an animal, but comforting all the same. It was insane of him to think it, but he felt safe — or at least, what he assumed was the feeling of safety — with Michael wrapped protectively around him. The third step was being able to move his limbs again, shaking the pins and needles feeling from them to comb a hand through Michael’s hair. It looked at him with no eyes and grinned with no mouth. He grinned back.

“Mine,” Gerry said, voice hoarse but clear. Michael’s laughter swept through him like rolling thunder. 

“You must be mad now.” 

“Maybe. But mad doesn’t mean wrong.”

“Ha.” It laughed again, the sound bouncing through each branch of its hallway. “A twist, then.” 

* * *

His sense of time was all but gone, laying against Michael in its hallways, but Gerry was fairly sure it took him an embarrassingly long time to feel like he could stand. He propped himself up to look at Michael. Its form was no more human than it had been, but haloed by blond hair, it was beautiful nonetheless. It formed just enough of a mouth to smirk up at him. 

“Leaving already?” It giggled. Gerry chuckled 

“Gonna escort me out?” He grinned. Michael drew itself up — to call the motion standing would be to imply too much about its form as it loomed over him, extending a hand down. He grabbed it and it pulled him to his feet like he weighed nothing at all. He wobbled a little but did not fall, even though his legs felt like jelly. 

The door appeared behind Michael. He skimmed a hand over the wall as he walked to it, just to watch Michael shudder. Its eyes glinted. 

“Be careful, or I may not let you leave.” It said, voice a low, distorted hum. Gerry chuckled. 

“And you called  _ me  _ desperate.” He teased, dragging a nail down the door frame. Michael’s whole form blurred for a moment, like TV static, and Gerry slipped through the door before it could retaliate. 

As he stepped back into his apartment his body gave out. 

Gerry didn’t collapse, though he would have if Michael hadn’t caught him, long hands wrapping around him and scooping him up into its arms with a carefulness that was in such sharp contrast to the way it had fucked him that it left him dizzy. Or maybe the dizziness was the way his head was spinning like the worst case of motion sickness he’d ever had. He didn’t even notice his nose was bleeding until some of the blood trickled into his mouth. 

“ _ Fuck _ .” He exhaled roughly. Michael giggled, a soft, less distorted sound than usual as it looked down at him.

“I was wondering when that would happen.” 

“What, wrecking me?” Gerry managed a scoff. 

“Oh that already happened.” Michael’s laughter was louder, this time, but somehow did not make his headache any worse. “No, the after effects.”

“Would have been nice to have a heads up.” He mumbled. Michael carried him over to his bed, laying him down with surprising gentleness. 

“You adjusted well, with only a little bleeding.”

“Yeah, only a little.” Gerry echoed with a huff, but it was hard to be mad — hard to feel anything but the post-sex glow of contentment battling the pounding of his head. Michael clambered onto the bed with him, shifting until Gerry’s head lay in its chest. 

They lay like that for moments Gerry couldn’t count, the passage of time not fully back in his perception. But resting on the steady static hum of Michael’s form eased his dizziness until it was mostly gone. His nose didn’t bleed for long either. 

Gerry sighed, a content little sound, relaxing onto the vague shape of Michael’s chest. He listened to the uneven, tripping pulse of its heart, unable to sync his breathing to it but comfortable all the same. Michael ran a hand through his hair, curling it around fingers that felt like foam and plastic, bending in all the wrong ways. It didn’t feel as alien as it used to. 

“Gerry,” Michael hummed. Gerry glanced up at it, but it did not continue. It wasn’t even looking at him, as far as he could tell, its gaze lost somewhere in shifting fractals and colors he couldn’t see.

His gaze traced the hazy line of Michael’s jaw. Gerry wondered, if things had gone differently for the two of them, where they’d be. If a life of fear hadn’t chosen them, would they be laying in his bed, saying “I love you”, instead of laying in its hallway having said “you’re mine”? He wasn’t sure, but a small part of him hoped so. 

Gerry fell asleep like that, listening to Michael’s uneven heartbeat, and as he slipped into unconsciousness, he swore he could just about pick out the pattern. 

**Author's Note:**

> Got sappy at the end. Because I'm gay.
> 
> EDIT: i forgot to mention i stole the title from a Lovecraft story because I want him spinning in his grave.
> 
> EDIT 2: Added a pwp sequel!


End file.
